


Love of a King

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Tudor Era, Courtship, Good Peter Hale, King Derek Hale, Lord Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Sexual Content, Single Parent Derek Hale, Ward stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 19:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: “Would it please you for me to find it acceptable?” Stiles asked. “That my opinion should be held higher than the King’s desire.”“I’m more a man than a king when with you,” Derek answered Stiles’ uncertainty.Stiles felt like his heart was breaking. He wanted this—he wanted this to be real, without the threat of Gerard looming outside. “I’m sorry for that,” he uttered, reaching a trembling hand up to pull Derek’s hand away from him. “I can’t let that be—you’re the King, first and foremost. And I have nothing worthy of a king.”~*~Or, Stiles finds himself in the middle of Gerard's schemes and falls in love with the King.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this AU is if Derek was like Henry VIII, except not a terrible person ... so NOT Henry VIII. And Stiles is actually a mixture of Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour.
> 
> This is for Christine! Thank you so much for your support, and I hope this lives up to your love of historical/royalty AUs & good!Peter.

Stiles heard the faintest cries echoing from within the intricate walkways of the maze. He took his time to make a detour into the hedges, even with knowing that Gerard expected him. He hated the idea of enraging Gerard with his tardiness, but he couldn’t ignore the cries of fear he heard within the maze.

Stiles remembered the royal maze from when he was a child. He recalled his mother playfully chasing after him as he laughed, giggling with delight as she let him escape her at every turn. He still remembered how to reach the deepest corners of the maze, and how to find his way back out.

Stiles halted when he caught sight of a small figure huddled on one of the benches seated in the corner of the maze. “Are you lost?” He asked.

The little girl startled upon hearing Stiles’ voice. She turned to look at him. “Who are you?” She demanded, sliding off of the bench. She turned her chin up in defiance at Stiles, daring him to make a comment.

“I’m sorry, but I heard noises,” Stiles offered, giving a faint bow of his head. “I just wanted to check on you.”

The little girl rubbed at her eyes, drying her tears. “I’m lost,” she reluctantly admitted, turning to look at the different exits surrounding them. “I thought I remembered my way out—but I can’t remember.”

Stiles nodded, remembering his own terror in being lost within the maze the day after his mother died. He had fled away from the nurses and tried to hide away from it all. “They’re just hedges,” he offered remembering his father’s words when he found him hours later, crying alone in the maze.

“I know that,” the little girl snapped, her eyebrows furrowed together. Her features softened some, as if she remembered herself. “I’m sorry.”

“Would you like for me to point out the exit?” Stiles offered.

The little girl looked around, carefully returning her gaze to Stiles, evaluating him. She faintly nodded in acceptance.

Stiles turned towards the walkway he had entered the small opening from. He pretended that he didn’t notice the little girl following after him. He suppressed his smile, finding it endearing more than anything.

“Should we escape, you’ll be my knight,” the little girl informed Stiles.

“I would be honored,” Stiles played along, keeping his attention in front of him. He faintly smiled when the little girl ran forward, taking Stiles’ hand into her own.

It only took them about a minute before they came upon the original entrance to the maze.

The little girl’s face lit up in excitement when she realized they had escaped the maze. “You truly are a knight!” She exclaimed with joy as she moved to hug Stiles. “You’re amazing.”

Stiles lightly laughed, gently hugging the girl against his side. “It was nothing, my lady.”

The little girl laughed, releasing Stiles from her hold as she twirled around in joy. Her steps faltered when she saw Sir Boyd and Sir Isaac approaching the gardens.

“Found her,” Isaac stated first, laying eyes on the little girl before Sir Boyd made a complete observation of the garden.

“You have eyes,” Boyd commented in response.

“At least I’m not the one that lost her,” Isaac countered. “Greenberg is going to wish he was banished from Court.”

“Am I in trouble?” The little girl questioned, clasping her hands behind her back as she observed the two men. “I was just speaking with my new friend,” she innocently explained before either men could answer.

Boyd carefully observed Stiles as he made his way over to them. He knelt beside the little girl, pointing a serious expression her way. “Your father was worried about you.”

The little girl’s smile melted away, a frown pulling across her lips. “I’m sorry,” she softly uttered. “I didn’t mean to make papa worry.”

“This is my knight,” the little girl continued to announce as she moved to take Stiles’ gloved hand in her own. “He saved me from being lost.”

Stiles released a faint laugh, amused by the little girl’s determined expression. “She’s being kind,” he offered in explanation to the two men.

Stiles felt like an outsider. He had little memory of being able to speak for himself in conversations with anyone since he became a ward of the Argents. He knew he was meant to keep his sentences concise, never giving away his true feelings.

"But you have to meet my father,” the little girl quickly stated as she looked up at Stiles. “He’d be very happy to meet my rescuer.”

“I dare say he would,” Isaac snorted a faint laugh. He produced a fake cough to cover his laughter when Boyd elbowed him.

“It’s settled!” The little girl announced with authority. “Come,” she grasped tightly at Stiles’ hand, pulling him after her as she walked by Boyd and Isaac.

Stiles obediently followed suit, even knowing that Gerard would be furious with him for being late. He couldn’t find himself caring about the beatings that would follow—he was happy to have a friend.

~*~

Stiles was turned around. He remembered the palace to be a complex labyrinth, but it had been too long since he was at Court to remember the layout. He took solace in the fact that the little girl seemed to know where she was going, leading them through the various hallways and crowded servants. His smile started to falter when he realized that he was being lead into the main part of the palace—the rooms reserved for the Court.

“My lady,” Stiles faintly started to argue, catching the way many members of the Court started to turn and look at him. He heard the faint murmurs as whispers were spoken back and forth.

“Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Beacon, Princess Natalia,” the chamberlain announced upon catching sight of the little girl pulling Stiles after her.

Stiles nearly stumbled to a stop once hearing the chamberlain address the young lady by her formal title. He was at a loss for action, realizing he had stumbled across the young princess by complete accident.

“Papa!” Natalia exclaimed as they reached a group of men in deep conversation. She released Stiles’ hand, running towards her father. She wrapped her arms around the man's legs, smiling as she looked up at him.

The King was youthful, yet older than his portraits seemed capable of capturing. He had allowed his beard to grow since his official coronation though. He had muted tones of grey speckled throughout his beard, a small amount of the color gathered by his temples. Stiles remembered an advisor to his father once saying that grey distinguished a man from a boy, one that had endured making choices that often weigh heavy on a soul.

The King was wearing black, a customary clothing that dignified those meant to stand out. His jeweled collar was a simple one, adorned with the Hale house’s colors, emerald and opal stones inlaid to silver. All the jewels in the world couldn’t compare to the color of the King’s eyes, though.

Boyd and Isaac entered the room after Stiles and the princess. They stood in flanking order beside Stiles, waiting for their king to address them.

“Where were you hiding?” The King questioned as he reached down to lift Natalia into his arms.

“I wasn’t hiding,” Natalia explained, her eyebrows furrowed as she stared down at the jeweled collar resting across the span of her father’s chest. She picked at one of the opals with apparent interest in avoiding her father's inevitable questions. “I was trying to walk through the maze, like Aunt Cora showed me.”

“Of course,” the King sighed, slightly shaking his head. He turned to look at Boyd and Isaac, about to commend them in finding his daughter when he saw Stiles. He carefully observed the young man, curious as to why he had never seen him at Court before.

“Your Majesty,” Boyd and Isaac both bowed to Derek.

Stiles seemed frozen, completely taken aback by the situation he was thrown into. The Argents had told Stiles about the King—the cruelty he could so easily bestow on the least suspecting fool. He recalled the comment Isaac had made about someone by the name of Greenberg wishing he could be banished from Court for the slight of losing track of the princess. He wondered if the man's fate was already sealed.

In the midst of his panic, he then realized that the King and princess were both wearing black—as were the rest of the Courtiers surrounding him.

The Queen had been executed little over a month ago.

At the King’s expressed command.

Stiles wondered if such a terrifying King could really be as loving a father as he appeared to be.

Isaac was still bowing when he looked up to see that Stiles had not moved, only continued to stare at both the King and princess. He looked to Boyd, catching the way Boyd’s expression furrowed in an attempt to keep from smiling.

“Traditionally one bows when meeting the King,” one of the advisors loudly criticized Stiles.

Stiles startled at the man’s words, his gaze leaving the King to look at the man who spoke—the man was a close acquaintance of Gerard’s, and his expression spoke volumes to how well Stiles' mistake would be received by Gerard.

He realized his folly was much more severe in not bowing than in not wearing black. He could easily explain away the crimson fabric of his doublet. He wasn’t supposed to be reintroduced to the Court until tomorrow, knowing now that Gerard was going to reprimand him for upsetting the older man’s plans. He quickly moved to bow as he remembered was correct, knowing that it likely changed in the time since he was away. He lost his balance, falling to the side as he stumbled to keep from tumbling over. His cheeks heated with embarrassment when he heard the soft laughter coming from the others.

“He’s my knight,” Natalia stated in excitement as she hopped down from Derek’s hold. “We must invite him to the ball tonight,” she added with a smile as she looked up at her father. It was obvious that Natalia knew how to play the part of someone too innocent to refuse.

“Well if he’s your knight, then we must,” the King answered Natalia. He turned his attention to Stiles, allowing a small smile to fall over his lips as he watched with mild amusement at Stiles’ attempt to remain formal. “And your name?” He asked, finally addressing Stiles.

Stiles stood from his bow, noticing that Boyd and Isaac had long forgotten their own. He looked from Natalia to the King, unsure if he was supposed to look at him while speaking. “Mieczysław Stilinski, your Majesty,” he quietly answered, remembering how often Gerard had told him that his titles were nothing now—that he was only Mieczysław, a distasteful name for an orphan from a broken house.

Stiles turned to follow the murmured hushes that spread throughout the crowd of Courtiers. He could hear the hurried whispers, and feel the tentative eyes watching him. He looked back at the king, catching a look of recognition.

The King turned his gaze towards the crowd, looking for Gerard. He knew the man was moving pieces throughout the Court, all in a vain attempt to elevate himself and his family. It helped that his own spies knew the Stilinski heir had become Argent’s ward. He looked back at Stiles when he was confident there was no Argent reveling in the spectacle. “Mieczysław.”

Stiles marveled at how well his name rolled off the King’s tongue, as if he had heard and spoken the name before. “Yes, your Majesty,” he confirmed. “Most people call me Stiles, though.”

“I like Stiles,” Natalia stated with finality. “Mischief sounds weird,” she added.

“Natalia,” the King politely stopped her. “We don’t mock a person’s name,” he reminded her.

Natalia looked at Stiles, a look of guilt falling over her. “I’m sorry … Mieczysław.” Her pronunciation was off and sounded like a complex and drawn out version of ‘mischief.’

“I take no offense, your Highness,” Stiles answered Natalia with a small smile. “I would be delighted if you called me Stiles.”

Natalia smiled at that. “Papa,” she started as she turned to the King. “Is there room at our gathering for Sir Stiles tonight?”

The King faintly smiled at Natalia. “Of course,” he looked at Stiles. “Should he have the time.”

Stiles bowed once more, firmly nodding his head. “Of course, your Majesty.” He raised from his bow, looking up to see that the Courtiers were dispersing, skeptical eyes staring at him. He smiled when he saw Natalia turning back to look at him, her hand still clutching to the King’s as she walked beside her father.

~*~

“Where were you?” Gerard demanded as he entered Stiles’ rooms unannounced.

Stiles startled, looking at Gerard. He opened his mouth to answer, only to have the words caught in his throat. He tightened his hold on the book he had been reading, fingers twisting along the covers and pages.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Stiles,” Gerard snapped, snatching the book from Stiles’ hands.

“I was waiting for you,” Stiles honestly answered. “But— I heard a faint crying. I found the princess lost in the maze—”

“What?” Gerard demanded.

“Stiles speaks the truth,” Chris stated as he entered the room, following after his father. “Derek invited Stiles to the gathering tonight—to be seated at the royal table, at his daughter’s request.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing that if Chris hadn’t interrupted, it was more than likely that Gerard would have flown into a rage.

“At the royal table,” Gerard muttered. “Good. This is good, Stiles,” he stated as he turned back to Stiles. “This is better than just introducing you at Court. The fool’s heart is through that little brat.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed, despising the way Gerard referred to the King and princess.

“You’ll get close to her,” Gerard continued as he vocalized his developing thought. “You can get her to like you, make her want you around.”

Stiles’ stomach churned. He knew what it was like to be a child in a political scheme—he still was one, to Gerard.

“Do you understand me, Stiles?” Gerard sternly stated, his gaze boring down on Stiles.

“Of course, sir,” Stiles softly answered.

“Good,” Gerard uttered. He turned to his son, “Get the tailor, we need to make sure he can even tempt a chaste man’s desire.”

~*~

Stiles smiled as he watched the festivities unfold. He was content with his seating at the end of the table, finding himself already the center of too much attention, even off to the side as he was. He drank much from his wine goblet, enjoying the aroma more than the bland ones given to him by the Argents. He could feel the blush running over his neck and up his cheeks, soft laughs bubbling up from his chest as he lightly clapped to applaud the dancers. He had been denied much in growing up a secluded life, never before seeing such splendors of the Court.

Derek watched as Natalia pulled Isaac around the dance floor, chuckling some when Isaac tripped over one of the Courtier’s skirts. He enjoyed watching the spectacles unfolding, but took no pleasure in partaking. He hadn’t felt the desire to dance since before Natalia’s birth, when he still felt affection for Jennifer—when he still thought she loved him. He mostly kept to himself, being as pleasant as possible, during parties.

“Brother,” Laura playfully greeted Derek with a smile as she danced to a stop in front of the table before him.

“Laura,” Derek greeted in kind as he placed his goblet down.

“How is my darling baby brother?” Laura smiled as she lightly leaned against the table.

“You should be wearing black, you’re in mourning,” Derek countered instead.

“As should you,” Laura argued back, gesturing from the rich emerald of her own dressings to Derek’s maroon ceremonial cape.

“I am wearing black,” Derek replied, gesturing towards his dress tunic. “But mourning a traitor isn’t something we Hales do, now is it?”

Laura lightly shook her head, offering her hand out to Derek. “I demand a dance.”

“And yet you know I don’t,” Derek replied.

“You beheaded my partner,” Laura plainly stated, her tone sharper than before. “You owe me a dance, Derek.”

Derek looked up at Laura, his gaze critical. He knew those in hearing distance were trusted enough to keep quiet, but Laura’s stubbornness was trying Derek’s patience. He stood, shoving back his chair with his foot.

“You know no one will ask me to because of it,” Laura added, as if it was enough reason to bring up the past.

Derek took Laura’s hand in a solid grip, pulling her to walk along the paralleled side of the table. He made sure their arms were extended high enough to avoid hitting any of those seated at the table.

Derek danced the necessary steps with Laura, listening to her bored tone as she talked about her displeasure with her prospects.

“You do realize that now I have no hopeful expectations,” Laura stated. “With my maidenhead gone, and my brother being the King that beheaded his Queen  _ and  _ brother-in-law, there is no one willing to dare treading such risky waters.”

“And do you realize that I have more pressing matters than this?” Derek answered in an equally bored tone. “I have traitors around every corner, and a rising fear for the safety of my daughter.”

“So the rumors were lies? Thank God,” Laura softly uttered in relief.

“What rumors?” Derek asked.

“That you plan on cutting Natalia off from your line of succession,” Laura answered.

Derek halted his movement, stopping Laura from continuing the dance as the others moved around them. “You know I love Natalia—that I may see Jennifer in her reflection at times, but I love her despite that. She is nothing like her mother.”

“I know that,” Laura answered, hesitating before gently touching Derek’s shoulder. “But you have to realize that I worry what people will push you to do—trying to convince you that it would be best for Natalia.”

Derek grabbed Laura’s arms, pulling her in closer to him. “This is not the place to have this conversation,” he lightly stated. “But you know me—you know I love and cherish our family, now and before everything else.”

Laura smiled, closing her eyes against the tears as she nodded her head in acceptance. “Let’s finish off the dance, then,” she uttered. She looked at Derek with a small smile. “And continue to draw attention from the new object of  _ your _ affections.”

Derek looked at Laura, taken off guard when she pulled him back into the dance. He knew she meant Stiles—Mieczysław Stilinski, ward of the house Argent. He wished he could deny having such affections for the very lynchpin that could bring his legitimacy to the throne into question. But he couldn’t deny his fondness for the laughter he heard coming from Stiles, nor the affection he felt in seeing the young man smile.

Stiles was glad that he didn’t have to sit with Gerard, feeling a relief in having room to breathe. He was aware of the man’s gaze on him—as always. He sipped at his goblet, pausing when he noticed that there was a figure standing before him. He owlishly stared up at the person, surprised to find Isaac there.

“You haven’t danced all evening,” Isaac started, a smile pulling across his lips. “It’s hard to understand how anyone could allow that to continue.”

Stiles placed his goblet down, his gaze falling away from Isaac’s. “I’m not a graceful dancer,” he offered.

“That’s also hard to believe,” Isaac replied with a smile. “Would you be as kind as to dance with me?”

Stiles looked up at Isaac, wondering if he was allowed such pleasantries. “Would that be proper?”

Isaac snorted. “I’m not always proper. Are you?”

Stiles allowed a small smile to pull across his lips. He lightly shook his head as he reached a hand up to take Isaac’s offered one. He stood with ease, trying to pretend that he wasn’t being watched and scrutinized.

Derek chose to ignore Isaac taking Stiles by the hand, bringing him onto the dance floor. He kept his head turned another way, keeping his gaze from seeing Stiles.

“Derek,” Laura softly stated. “If you squeeze my hand any harder, you’re going to break a finger.”

Derek looked at Laura, easing his grip on her hand. “Sorry,” he uttered.

Laura faintly hummed, not sounding the least convinced.

The dance was an intricate one, which involved more than one turn and exchange of partners. Derek disliked it, finding himself with more than one partner that he despised having to acknowledge. He forgot himself, nearly stumbling over the steps, when he turned to find Stiles as his partner.

“Your Majesty,” Stiles stated in surprise, his eyes widened as he forgot to bow.

“Mieczysław,” Derek answered, taking the traditional bow of his head to Stiles.

Stiles hurried to bow, leaning in too far and hitting his head against Derek’s.

Derek leaned back, barely taken off guard by the sudden jostling. He heard Laura’s failure at suppressing her laughter as Stiles profusely apologized.

“It’s perfectly fine, Mieczysław,” Derek stated. “As my sister likes to tell me, I have a thick skull.”

Stiles flushed, releasing a heavy breath. “I still apologize, your Majesty.”

“Derek,” Derek answered, taking Stiles’ hand.

Stiles looked at their hands, his gaze turning to Derek. “Then I must ask you to refer to me as Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Derek nodded.

Stiles blushed as he allowed a small smile to pull at his lips. He slipped his hand into Derek’s, allowing the King to take the lead. He carefully stepped with ease, his gaze falling on Derek as they danced together. He couldn’t stop himself from staring, taking in Derek’s appearance.

Stiles would not lie if someone asked him what he thought about Derek’s looks. He believed Derek to be handsome, if not a little intimidating while one was the subject of his stare. He enjoyed the way Derek’s brow would furrow as he concentrated on their dancing. He felt at ease with Derek’s hand holding his own, the weight of Derek’s other hand resting on his hip was more welcoming than embarrassing.

“Are you enjoying your first night at Court?” Derek asked, electing to speak with Stiles even as more than one of the dancing Courtiers around them stared with intrigue.

“I am,” Stiles answered. “I hope I’m not embarrassing anyone.”

Derek looked at Stiles. “I would say you’re far from embarrassing.”

Stiles smiled, looking down and away from Derek. “Your Majesty is kind to say that.”

Derek’s gaze continued to remain on only Stiles. “It’s not kindness—just the truth.”

The dance ended too quickly for Derek’s liking, his hands lingering on Stiles’ hips. He drew himself away, offering a small clap to the musicians that pushed the Courtiers to follow suit.

Stiles followed after Derek’s example, unable to take his eyes off the king.

Derek gently took Stiles’ hand, lifting it to his lips with ease.

Stiles stared, watching the way Derek kissed the back of his hand with care. Derek’s lips were soft against his skin, a pleasant feeling of dedication in the gesture. His breath drew sharp as he tried to think of the right words to speak, only to be able to utter none.

“I look forward to seeing you at Court again,” Derek uttered as his hold on Stiles’ hand lingered. He parted from Stiles with a reluctance he had never felt before.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles knew that if he allowed Gerard to, he would be the subject of much more ridicule and manipulation now that many had seen the way he interacted with the King. He tried to avoid speaking with Derek in Gerard’s presence because of it. He kept himself humble in avoiding conversing with too many people found close to the royal family. He hated that he wanted to spend more time with the King, knowing that he was falling into part of Gerard’s wicked plan.

Stiles kept to himself as he walked along the palace’s grounds, relishing in his time alone. He faintly smiled as he observed the various flowers and vegetation. He wondered if his mother had enjoyed such sights—he hoped his father would get the chance to see them.

“Young Lord Stilinski,” a voice addressed Stiles.

Stiles turned his head to look at the person. He frowned, not knowing the young woman that came towards him.

“I thought it was you,” the woman smiled as she came to take Stiles’ hand in her own.

“I’m sorry, but I do not know who you are,” Stiles shyly offered, restraining his desire to take his arm away from her.

“My name is Lady Morrell,” the young woman replied with a fond smile. “I knew your father and mother.”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, a surprise falling over him. “I’m sorry, but I—”

“No need to apologize for someone knowing your parents,” Morrell answered as she gestured for him to follow her. She took his arm gently in her hold as they started to walk. “Your mother was beloved by many. It’s a shame where her death put you.”

Stiles tried to not tense, seeing the other occupants on the grounds staring at them both walking together. He saw the way they looked in intrigue, likely concocting the next rumor that would spread about him.

“My mother’s death was tragic, in that I lost her at such a young age,” Stiles strategically answered Morrell.

“And tell me of your father,” Morrell started.

Stiles tensed, looking at Morrell. “I haven’t seen my father in years. I’ve been living under the good graces of Lord Argent, as his ward.”

Morrell looked at Stiles, evaluating him carefully before nodding in acceptance. “Of course.”

“Lady Morrell, if you could pardon me,” Stiles started when he saw Gerard emerging onto the palace grounds, escorted by a few of the King’s Advisors. He was relieved the older man had yet to notice him.

Morrell’s eyes fell on Gerard, her lips pursing in displeasure at the man’s presence. “Yes, of course.” She released Stiles’ arm, bowing to him. “I wish you to know that there are many who would like to see a Lisiewicz restored to their rightfully elevated place.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, turning his gaze away from Morrell. He took his leave, not knowing what to say in response to such a statement. He hadn’t heard his mother’s maiden name spoken aloud by someone other than Gerard conspiring against the Hales.

A Lisiewicz, the royal fox that guarded the rose, was the name spoken in hushed tones in secret. And in some circles, considered the rightful heir to the throne that the wolves stole.

Stiles wished he could erase the turmoil his namesake brought.

~*~

Gerard noticed how much closer Derek and Stiles had become in the passing weeks, the King asking for Stiles to join the royal table at the various banquets held. He was pleased with Stiles’ progress, but he wanted Stiles to hurry. He was growing impatient with every day that passed without a marriage proposal. He was waiting on the King to take Stiles as a Consort before he could play his next move to dethrone the Wolf.

Derek was hosting a party in honor of his sister’s name day. It was a lavish affair, one that was a display of the Hale wealth, but also Derek’s affection for his family.

Natalia was excited to have Stiles there, practically sitting in his lap the entire feast. She was unaware of how the Court was staring at them, as if her love was a confirmation of Stiles’ newly appointed place by Derek’s side.

Natalia was the one to pull Derek to the dance floor, laughing as her father helped her to dance expressively with him. She giggled as she twirled around, holding onto her father’s hand. She made funny and amused expressions at Stiles, smiling widely when she made him laugh.

Derek picked Natalia up, easily lifting her in his arms.

Stiles admired the image before him, watching as Natalia laughed before pressing her face into Derek’s chest in her attempts to silence her giggles.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Stiles’ stomach churned at the closeness of Gerard’s voice. He looked down at his empty plate, his smile disappearing from his face.

“You seem to forget what is needed,” Gerard stated, his hand moving to grip Stiles’ shoulder. “Do you need more motivation?”

“No,” Stiles weakly uttered.

Gerard applied pressure to his grip on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles faintly winced. “No, my lord,” he corrected himself.

“Good boy,” Gerard replied, patting a hand down on Stiles’ shoulder with enough force to imply what should happen if he failed.

Stiles turned to watch Gerard leave the room, feeling a little easier with the distance.

“Stiles!” Natalia excitedly called his name, rushing into his space as she grabbed his arm. “Did you see?”

Stiles happily smiled at Natalia, turning his attentions towards her as he pushed all thoughts of Gerard out of his mind. He wouldn’t let the old man ruin tonight. “I’m sorry, princess, I didn’t,” he confessed with a frown.

Natalia frowned some in response. “Then you’ll have to dance with papa yourself.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, realizing that Derek had been watching him. He wondered for how long—if Derek had seen Gerard’s interaction with him. “I’m not sure I’m light enough to be lifted in such a manner,” he replied.

“Papa is strong,” Natalia firmly stated, the strength in her brow showing as she continued pulling on Stiles’ arm. “You have to dance,” she nearly demanded.

Stiles stood at Natalia’s prompting, looking at Derek as he was lead to him. He smiled at Derek when he was offered his arm.

“I apologize for the theatrics,” Derek admitted as he stood beside Stiles, his arm encircling Stiles’ waist as his other guided them both into a starting position.

“She’s a delight,” Stiles gladly confessed, turning his head to look back at Natalia.

Natalia sat in Laura’s lap, giddy with joy as she watched Stiles and Derek dance. She happily kicked her legs and squealed when Laura wrapped arms around her.

“I’m afraid I used your fondness for her to my own advantage,” Derek explained as he turned to stand before Stiles. He lowered his head in a small bow, waiting for Stiles to reciprocate his formal offer to begin the dance.

Stiles bowed to Derek, making sure to keep his head lower. He allowed Derek to pull him in, their chests close, their arms stretched out above their heads as they kept their hands clasped. “Would that make me as guilty for accepting such a rouse?” He questioned as they started to perform the steps in time with the violin and pan flute’s music.

“Perhaps,” Derek answered with a smile in his voice. “I would even dare to say I am jealous,” he offered, releasing one of Stiles’ hands in order to turn him, holding Stiles close enough to touch his chest to Stiles’ back. “They stare at you—all of them do,” he breathed the words against the shell of Stiles’ ear, nothing more than a whisper for only him.

“They stare at you, My King,” Stiles replied, turning his head to look at Derek. “And envy me for having your gaze in return.”

He could kiss Derek—almost every fiber of his being begged him to. He could have  _ this _ .

Happiness. Love. Family.

But he refused to hand it to Gerard in return.

He pulled away before Derek could close the gap between their lips.

That was the moment their dancing partners changed, Derek’s touch lingering on Stiles’ hand.

A sadness bubbled in Stiles’ gut as he mechanically went through the motions of the dance, his partners changing more than once.

“You’ve managed to get his attention,” Chris’ voice suddenly pulled Stiles’ thoughts back to the dance.

Stiles turned to discover that his new partner was in fact Chris. He had been suspicious when the steps seemed easier with this new partner. He recalled all the steps Chris had worked to help him master in the months prior to his re-introduction into Court. “That was Gerard’s goal,” he weakly stated as Chris spun him in a similar fashion to Derek.

Stiles was surprised to see that Derek was still looking at him, despite having his own new dance partner. More than one partner tried to get to Derek before another could, everyone eager to dance with the King, whose reputation for loathing dancing preceded him. He wished he had stayed in his seat now that he was acting the object.

“I believe there is much more than lust in the King’s eye when it comes to you,” Chris admitted. “Perhaps, you could learn to use  _ that _ to outwit a particular scheme,” he lowly stated, turning into the steps once more. He bowed at the end of their steps, pressing a faint kiss to the back of Stiles’ hand before turning to his new partner.

Stiles felt overwhelmed with his thoughts swirling. He wondered if Chris had meant it—if there was more to Derek’s desire to court him. If Derek would truly save him from Gerard’s claws. He still did not understand Chris’ place in all this.

He stumbled a few of his steps, apologizing to his grimacing dance partner.

He remembered this dance from when he was a child—the music would gain speed, partners changing faster and faster until you were left with someone at random. It was a sign of fortune should you end up with your original dance partner.

He had seen his parents perform the dance before, recalling the way he would clap and smile when his mother and father always ended up together at the end.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he danced to the beat with partner after partner, the beat gaining and gaining, all the spins and turns confusing him as to where he would end up. He tried to see if he could catch sight of Derek, all to no avail.

Those gathered around the dance floor started to clap with the beat, signaling the end of the dance.

Stiles was out of breath, blindly turning as his partner released him to his new and final one. He stumbled to a stop just as his hands clasped his partner’s. He couldn’t stop his smile as he came face to face with Derek.

Stiles laughed when Derek lifted and spun him in a similar manner to how he had with Natalia. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, his smile pressed into the rich fabric over Derek’s shoulder.

~*~

“I don’t trust him,” Cora stated as she tossed her food back onto her plate.

Derek rolled his eyes as he drank from his goblet.

“You used to be friends with him,” Laura countered with a small smile.

Cora tossed a grape across the table, smirking when it hit Laura’s chest. She acted unfazed by Laura’s glower as her sister discarded the grape onto the table. “We were toddlers. I highly doubt he even remembers that. Well, we should hope he doesn’t remember most.” She looked at Derek for a brief moment.

“It wasn’t Derek’s fault that the lords of the realm revolted against the Queen,” Laura calmly stated, a stern voice cutting through the uncertain content of their conversation.

“Derek didn’t behead her, you mean,” Cora stated.

“Please stop talking as if I’m not here,” Derek uttered.

“You’re the one who doesn’t like to talk about what happened,” Cora stated.

“He has a right not to,” Laura replied, giving Cora a chastising look. “You were a child when the revolt happened. By the end, Derek was barely sixteen—it wasn’t fair that everyone placed expectations on him.”

“When the war ended, Derek was the only one left in line with a claim on the throne,” Cora corrected Laura. “Uncle Peter didn’t count because of his disinheritance, and we’re both women, remember,” she scoffed, the very idea that she didn’t have the same basic rights as a man was absurd, even if Laura tried to keep a balance between reality and her own beliefs.

“Again, talking about me like I’m not here,” Derek sighed.

“Oh please, everyone is always talking about you,” Cora countered. “You’d think you would be happy not to be the topic of conversation.”

“I’d like to be included,” Derek argued with Cora. “And not have my life plotted out for me again.”

Cora sighed, knowing she couldn’t argue with that.

Derek had everything chosen for him—from advisor to consort, it was all arranged by the different noble families. And it all worked.

Until the Queen was implicated in scandal and rumors of attempted regicide. In the end, there was no other decision than execution to be made, but all assumed Derek made it.

“I think he’s strange,” Laura commented, trying to get the heaviness out of the air. “But I don’t think he means any of us harm.” She looked at Derek. “And Natalia seems to really like him.”

Derek looked from his goblet to Laura. “I know that.”

“Good, good,” Laura innocently mumbled.

“Stop scheming,” Derek countered.

Cora snorted. “Just hurry up and shower him in gifts. Then you can tell him you want to marry him.”

Derek glowered at his sisters, turning his gaze away from them. He knew he couldn’t successfully lie to them, and that they would be able to call his bluff. He was attracted to Stiles, and there was nothing that could change that.

“Many will think you’re courting him because of his family,” Laura cautiously warned. “If Stiles catches wind of that—”

“I know,” Derek nearly growled. He looked at Laura. “I have my advisors breathing down my neck about it. They want me to imprison him.”

Cora looked at Derek. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t just imprison someone for their familial relations.” Her gaze wandered over to Laura before turning back to Derek. “You can’t, can you?”

Laura sighed. “He’s our King, and that means he can do as he wishes.” She looked at Derek. “Men who dabble in politics often times scheme even behind a king’s back. They might not need you to personally throw him in the tower.”

Derek remained silent as he continued to stare off at the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“You have the power to spare him, Derek,” Laura offered. “But you can’t protect a regular citizen from such offenses.”

Cora’s features twisted with disappointment. “Hardly seems fair,” she noted. “He’s not safe outside the Court, and he’s just as unsafe from within the Court.”

“But not at my side,” Derek noted. He rubbed a hand over his face, scowling some as he uttered, “I have the right to spare my consort form a reasonably harmless offense.”

“Such as the bad blood of a family name,” Laura added.

“There is no guarantee he is even interested,” Derek began.

Laura laughed as Cora scoffed.

Derek glared at his sisters.

“He stumbles around whenever you turn your gaze to him,” Laura replied.

“There is no telling what Gerard has told him,” Derek stated. “He could very well be playing a game to get close and gut me.”

“That’s a little extreme,” Cora stated. “I think Gerard would be the one to gut you, not his ward.”

“Thank you,” Derek sarcastically replied.

“You could try talking to him,” Laura interrupted. “Might make you change your mind about everything.”

Derek sighed. “Peter already said that.”

Cora looked around the table, noticing there wasn’t another place set. “Is there a reason Peter hasn’t been here?”

Laura gave Cora a pointed look, as if she was judging her for missing important information.

“He’s still in the bliss of being a newlywed,” Derek answered in a monotone voice. “He’s been insufferable at all council meetings.”

“You blessed the marriage,” Laura reminded Derek.

“I didn’t want Lady Natalie Martin as a mother-in-law,” Derek countered.

Cora looked completely disgusted as she dropped her napkin onto the table. “I didn’t need to know this about our uncle.”

“Better we tell you then him,” Laura answered as she watched their sister depart from the table.

Derek softly snorted at Cora’s blanching as she exited the room.

Laura looked at Derek once they were alone. “Now that it’s just us,” She softly broached the subject. “How are you?”

Derek looked at his sister. “Besides that fact that I beheaded my wife less than two months ago?”

Laura’s brow turned down in displeasure at Derek’s words. “You didn’t behead her yourself.”

“I might as well have,” Derek replied.

“She was fucking my husband,” Laura sharply stated, holding Derek’s gaze with her own. “And on top of that, she was plotting your murder with him. Which very well could have also included mine.”

Derek reached his hand out to take hold of Laura’s.

Laura shook her head. “They both made their graves. You were merciful enough to grant them a talented executioner and proper burial.”

“And what would they say if I suddenly started to court someone new?” Derek asked.

“They would say nothing if you did,” Laura replied. “Especially if it was a Lisiewicz.”

Derek released a heavy breath. He rose from his chair, moving to place a chaste kiss to Laura’s forehead. “I have to see Natalia to bed,” he softly spoke. It was his own escape from giving it thought.

“Think about, Derek,” Laura answered as her hold on Derek’s hand lingered. “He’s a nice man, with the right name, and a kind heart.”

Derek nodded as he pulled away from Laura’s hold, exiting the room in order to be with his thoughts for a while. He could only hope that Stiles was truly as endearing as he appeared.

~*~

“Your Majesty has been very kind,” Stiles softly uttered as he inspected the jeweled collar, his fingertips pulling back the satin fabric that covered the jewels.

“It’s not kindness,” Derek replied. “A selfishness, actually,” he uttered more to himself.

Stiles looked at Derek.

“I want you to have them,” Derek explained. “To wear them, and show the Court that you’ve accepted my favor.”

Stiles closed his eyes, turning his head towards the door they had entered from. He was surprised that Gerard had allowed him to be alone with Derek, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was a mercy. He knew there was one of Gerard’s guards listening closely outside the door. “I’m sorry, your Majesty, but I can’t accept this.”

Derek’s features furrowed as he looked down at the collar. “Is it not acceptable?”

Stiles quickly shook his head. “No, of course not. It’s beautiful—more so than anything I own.”

Derek looked at Stiles, a confused expression taking over his features.

“I—” Stiles stammered, looking down at the collar before closing his eyes. He couldn’t look at Derek. “I’m sorry,” he faintly uttered. “It wouldn’t be proper for me to accept this in secret,” he lied, hoping that it was enough to reject the gift and the cruel taunts Gerard would speak about Derek in secret.

Derek released a sigh, the weight on his chest lightening. “If that is all, I can present it to you in front of the Court.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. He knew Gerard would be pleased with such a display. “Your Majesty—”

“Stiles, please,” Derek began to correct Stiles. “You never need to call me that,” he softly expressed.

A blush crept up high on Stiles’ cheeks. “Derek,” he gently stated the King’s name. “If you were to give me something this extravagant before the Court, they would … suspect things, believing it was compensation for …” He looked away from Derek, his blush burning deeper.

“For services rendered,” Derek nearly sighed in disappointment, knowing Stiles was correct. “It would be indecent, especially after I’ve met with you in private.”

Stiles nodded in silence.

Derek shook his head. “I’m not good at this,” he tiredly explained. “I never had to …  _ try  _ and court someone. It’s often decided for me.”

Stiles looked at Derek, a sadness pulling at his features. “I understand that.”

Derek looked to Stiles. “I dare say that’s one of the reasons I find myself adoring you,” he softly confessed.

Stiles allowed a smile to replace his sadness. He released a faint laugh, looking away from Derek. “I dare say that you’re flirting with me.”

“Only if you find it acceptable,” Derek answered.

“Would it please you for me to find it acceptable?” Stiles asked. “That my opinion should be held higher than the King’s desire.”

Derek reached his hand out to touch Stiles’ face, pausing to wait for Stiles’ acceptance of the gesture.

Stiles felt himself hovering close to Derek, pulled in towards the King’s charms. He dared to wonder if this was real for Derek, or if it was another game to be played. He desperately wanted it to be real—he wanted someone to genuinely care about him enough. He closed his eyes for a moment when Derek’s hand cupped his cheek.

“I’m more a man than a king when with you,” Derek answered Stiles’ uncertainty.

Stiles felt like his heart was breaking. He wanted this—he wanted this to be real, without the threat of Gerard looming outside. “I’m sorry for that,” he uttered, reaching a trembling hand up to pull Derek’s hand away from him. “I can’t let that be—you’re the King, first and foremost. And I have nothing worthy of a king.”

The door opened, startling Stiles to turn away from Derek. He looked over at the guard who opened the door. He flushed, recognizing the man as one of Argent’s. He turned away from Derek, taking a small step back from him.

“Are you incapable of knocking?” Derek almost snapped, demanding an answer before the guard could even speak.

“Apologies, your Majesty,” the guard answered, his gaze avoiding Stiles. “But Lord Argent has asked for Lord Stilinski to be returned to his company—he pushed urgency.”

Derek glared at the guard. “Does Gerard think that he can’t trust the King with his ward?”

Stiles looked at Derek, and truly wondered if Derek could counter Gerard’s command for his return. He wondered what it meant to possibly belong to someone with that power. He turned to look at the guard. “I’ll see Lord Argent in a moment,” he instructed the guard.

“No,” Derek stated, countering Stiles’ words.

Stiles looked at Derek.

“It displeases me that Gerard thinks he can pull you along on a leash,” Derek plainly stated, not caring that the guard knew—that Gerard would know in a matter of minutes.

“And yet, he can,” Stiles softly stated with a sad smile pulling at his lips. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give your Majesty the answer you wanted,” he uttered, respectfully bowing his head to Derek. He paused as he moved to turn away from Derek. He took a step closer to Derek to place a fleeting kiss to Derek’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he barely whispered, his voice escaping him as he turned and walked away in shame. He rushed passed the guard, his cheeks burning as he planned for the worst from Gerard.

~*~

“You foolish child!” Gerard practically roared at Stiles, furiously pacing. He angrily stomped over to Stiles, yanking him up off the floor with harsh grips on his biceps.

Stiles barely reacted, his hand still covering his inflamed cheek. His lip was split, a small trail of blood staining down his chin. It wasn’t the first time Gerard made him bleed. He looked at the floor, refusing to look at Gerard, knowing that a single wrong look could cause the worst damage.

“You had him in the palm of your hand, and you  _ rejected  _ him?” Gerard demanded to know why Stiles would ruin such a thing.

“He wanted more than I could give,” Stiles dared to lie.

“I don’t care if he wanted to bend you over and fuck you in front of the entire Court,” Gerard spat. “He’s the King! And being his whore gives more than enough leverage to this family.”

Tears burned Stiles’ eyes. “I’m no one’s whore—not yours or his to use.”

“That’s all you’re good for,” Gerard countered. “You’re the orphan of a madwoman and a traitor—you have no honor! Lining the bed of the King is the one thing you could possibly do to begin to pay us back for keeping you alive.”

“I won’t do it,” Stiles defiantly stated. He wouldn’t allow anyone—King or commoner—force him into their bed before marriage. He knew the indiscretions of the Court, and he had nothing but his chastity to win him favor now.

The Court looked at him as an example of perfected reservation when it came to desire—and Stiles planned on keeping that small victory, even despite how badly he wanted to crawl into Derek’s bed.

“Father,” Chris’ voice sharply stated—an interruption from the beating that was about to proceed.

Gerard turned to look at Chris. “What?” He demanded the answer be worth such an interruption.

Chris held up a letter sealed by wax pressed into the shape of an engraved wolf.

Stiles’ eyes drifted up to the letter, wondering if it was news about his father—if Gerard finally had grown tired of toying with them. And then he saw the seal.

“Directly from the King,” Chris elaborated when his father didn’t ask.

Gerard moved forward, grasping the letter from Chris’ hand.

Chris moved out of Gerard’s way, allowing him to pace before the fireplace. He moved to Stiles, reaching a hand out to touch Stiles’ chin. He forced Stiles to look up at him.

Stiles glared at Chris, easily batting his hand away.

Chris partially turned his head to watching his father pace, easily reaching a hand out to Stiles’ in a lazy motion.

Stiles almost flinched away, stopping when he felt parchment being placed into his hand—a letter. He quickly clasped his hands behind his back, feeding the letter up into his vest to hide it from view. He still didn’t understand why Chris bothered to offer the little help he had—he was still considered even Chris’ prisoner when night fell. He prayed it was another letter from his father.

Gerard’s laugh startled Stiles with fear, more than thoughts of attempting to understand Chris’ true motive ever did.

“Good news?” Chris tiredly asked, taking a few steps from Stiles to turn and look at Gerard.

“The moron is in love,” Gerard laughed as he placed the letter on display.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed as he tried to look at the writing on the parchment. He noticed Derek’s name signed at the bottom, all the King’s titles written in postscript.

“He wishes to be allowed to see Stiles,” Gerard elaborated. “To invite him to dine with the royal family.”

Stiles felt sick, knowing that Gerard would take advantage of Derek’s kindness—that he would be stuck in the middle of Gerard’s plans to dethrone the Hales.

“You’ll go when he calls upon you,” Gerard started to scheme as he disregarded everything Stiles had previously said.

“I—”

“You  _ will _ do this, Stiles,” Gerard growled. “This is our chance to fix what you’ve done.”

“He can’t go to dinner with a split lip,” Chris countered on Stiles’ behalf.

Gerard lowly cursed, pausing his movements as he thought of an excuse. “You’ll have to say you’re out of the country for a while. Visiting friends.”

Stiles sighed, wishing he could be afforded such a luxury.

“We’ll say you took a tumble from a horse,” Gerard continued to formulate his elaborate lie.

“He’ll still expect an answer,” Stiles softly replied.

Gerard pondered how to answer such a request—for Stiles to still be under his thumb but also at Derek’s beck and call. “You’ll write him a letter,” he finally stated, uncaring of Stiles’ answer in the matter.

~*~

Stiles made sure to not open the letter until Gerard was certainly asleep. His hands trembled as he tore the seal open, his mind racing for news of his father. He sat close to the fireplace, using the light from the crackling logs in order to read the words scrawled across the parchment. He was worried at how rushed and scribbled his father’s penmanship was compared to his last letter.

_ Stiles, _

_ I pray that you have your health. These days are growing tiresome. I sometimes cannot tell if it is day or night here. I fear leaving you alone—I fear what Gerard has in store once I die. _

_ I don’t want to worry you, but this scenario cannot play out forever. _

_ Gerard told me of his plan to make you the King’s new Consort. I beg you to tread carefully, Stiles. The Hales are a powerful family, and rose to power with your mother’s execution. I cannot say that Claudia was herself in the end, but she was still our darling Claudia—a mother and wife. _

_ I do not want to lose you, nor do I want to leave you alone in this world. But I fear one is coming sooner than the other. _

_ I wish to see and hold you soon. _

_ With all my love _

Stiles knew why his father didn’t sign it—John didn’t trust Chris completely. He needed to see his father, and free him from Gerard’s grasp, immediately.

Stiles knew that the only person who outranked Gerard in power and wealth was Derek. But he also knew that nothing could be done—if he told Derek about Gerard’s plan, Derek could put Stiles’ father in jeopardy by doing something. Or worse, Derek would blame Stiles for going along with the plan. He imagined his head rotting on a spike next to Jennifer’s.

Jennifer had given Derek an heir to continue his legacy—what had Stiles given Derek but a few moments of laughter and lightheartedness?

Stiles pushed those thoughts from his mind, reading his father’s words again and again until he had them memorized. Only then did he put the parchment into the fireplace, burning the letter from existence like all the others.

~*~

Derek was disappointed when Boyd brought nothing but word that Gerard had received his letter, and the sad admittance that Stiles was unavailable for some time. He wondered if Stiles was avoiding him.

It was late at night when Isaac brought Derek a letter.

Derek was resting by the fireplace in his room, Natalia having fallen asleep on his chest. He curled his arm around her, holding her close. He pressed a kiss into her hair when soft whimpers stirred from her.

Natalia’s nightmares had gotten worse, turning into night terrors. Her screams could be heard through more than half of the palace. Some of the healers noted that her fears were childish ones—that Derek shouldn’t coddle her. But some nights, Natalia was completely inconsolable, unable to wake from her tears and screams for her father.

Derek ignored the healers, forgoing his own sleep to console his daughter. He would pace with Natalia in his arms, similar to how he soothed her into sleep as a baby. He had managed to get her to fall back to sleep within an hour, but every time he tried to set her into the bed, Natalia’s hands tightened on Derek’s shirt, as if she knew he was about to leave her behind.

Derek blamed himself. He knew Natalia was afraid that she was going to lose him. He knew it all started after Jennifer had been sent to the tower to await sentencing. He wondered if he should have allowed Natalia to see Jennifer before the execution. He wanted to tear Jennifer’s tongue out when she yelled the truth at him the one time he visited her—an attempt to discover her true character.

_ I never wanted her. _

Derek wasn’t going to let Jennifer poison Natalia’s memory of her as a mother. And now he wondered if that was the right course, or if it only helped lead to Natalia’s tortured dreams.

Derek raised a hand to Isaac when he came into the room, about to speak. He looked at Isaac, arching an eyebrow at him.

Isaac clamped his mouth shut when he saw Natalia sleeping against Derek’s chest. He carefully walked forward, reaching his arm out to give Derek the letter.

Derek looked at the letter, making a calm gesture to take it from Isaac’s hand. He placed his hand under Natalia’s legs, moving to stand with her. He moved towards Isaac, shuffling Natalia’s weight with ease as he transferred her sleeping form over to Isaac.

Isaac’s gaze was on the princess, making sure he didn’t wake her as he took her into his arms. He tried to shuffle her with the similar ease Derek had, not as successful in fluidity, but managing not to wake her all the same.

Derek gently touched the back of Natalia’s head, his fingertips brushing through her hair. He faintly smiled when she released an easy breath, knowing that she was sound asleep. He nodded for Isaac to take Natalia back to her room, watching them go. He finally turned his attention towards the letter when they were gone.

Derek tore the letter open, unfolding the parchment in order to view its contents. He took a step back when something fell from the letter, the sound of metal hitting the wooden floorboards. He looked down at the item, seeing that it was a locket on a chain. He bent down, picking the token up and turning it in his fingertips as he tried to examine it with care.

The locket was expertly crafted, an intricate design carved into the metal.

Derek turned his eyes to the letter, not daring to open the locket just yet.

_ Dearest Derek, _

_ I know that you have written to Gerard. I don’t know the fullness of that correspondence, but I do hope it was as wonderful as he made it seem. _

_ I do long to be at the palace, despite my earlier conversation with you. I am sorry I couldn’t accept the collar—it is still the most beautiful thing I have seen, and I do not believe I could wear it without feeling impertinent. _

_ But having your attention—your kind words and happy glances—is most welcomed. I must admit that I feel shy and often times unsure of myself when I think about how it makes me feel to be the subject of your affections. It overwhelms—a sensation I have never known before. _

_ Please don’t think I am avoiding you. _

_ I promised some dear friends of mine that I would visit them, and I believe time in the country—away from the Court—would do well to clear my head of the intoxication of it all. _

_ Until I can see you, I have enclosed a token that I hope pleases you. I hope it will calm your thoughts, and bring about fond memories. _

_ I do long to see you again. _

_ Forever Yours, _

_ Stiles _

Derek held the letter against his chest, closing his eyes as he released a heavy breath. Stiles’ words left him winded, unlike anything before. As a younger man, he had once thought that he could have learned to love Jennifer despite it being an arranged marriage—how naïve he had been. He had never felt this rush before—the envy of denial; the rush of hope.

He looked down at the small decorative locket, his fingertips moving to unclasp it. The metal opened to reveal an expertly crafted portrait of Stiles.


	3. Chapter 3

“Derek, this is ridiculous,” Laura argued as she stood beside Derek’s horse. She grabbed the reins from the squire, refusing to give them to Derek.

Derek held his helmet in his hand as he looked down at his sister. “You were the one who told me to find a pastime,” he countered.

“I meant courting someone else,” Laura argued. “You’ve been melancholy the whole time Lord Stilinski has been away. I meant to rouse you to seeking someone else’s hand.”

Derek gave Laura a displeased look. “There no other hand I am interested in. This is as much your fault as mine.”

Laura tried to argue when Peter pulled the reins from her hands.

“Let the boy have fun,” Peter commented as he pulled the reins with him, escorting Derek’s horse out from under the rafters. “Your opponent is one of Argent’s men.”

Derek scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m sure Gerard had something to do with that.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t doubt it,” Peter replied. “Though I thought I should tell you there is a surprise here.”

Derek arched his eyebrows at Peter. “And would the surprise be something I’ll like.”

“Look at the seating closest to where the royal family sits,” Peter commented. “Next to my darling wife, you’ll see said surprise.”

Derek looked up as he came to a rest by the starting line of the divider. He lifted an arm in welcome to the overwhelming cheer of the crowd, both noble and commoner alike. His false smile faltered some when he saw who Peter was referring to.

In one of the chairs reserved for those closest to the crown was none other than Stiles.

Stiles was standing with the rest of the crowd, applauding Derek’s arrival to the tourney grounds. He was wearing a gorgeous shade of royal blue, his doublet crafted from the richest fabric Gerard could afford. His ceremonial cape, a cobalt blue, draped over his shoulder. He knew he stood out, as Gerard had intended him to. He wasn’t surprised when Derek spotted him.

“Gerard definitely did that,” Derek commented to Peter.

Peter lightly laughed. “And yet, you are tempted,” he smiled up at his nephew. He offered to take the helmet from Derek, knowing he was going to ride out to Stiles first.

Derek handed his helmet to Peter. “Am I foolish for walking into such a trap?”

Peter looked out to observe Stiles, catching sight of Lydia beside him. “I would say that we are all fools in love,” he answered, looking up at Derek once more. “Then again, my Lydia is vetting him for you. You’ll know if the boy truly likes you soon enough.”

“No tricks, Peter,” Derek replied. “I wouldn’t do him the disservice.”

“Lydia is only gaining an opinion of him,” Peter tiredly replied. “You’re no fun when it comes to the game, you know that?” He jested as he took a step back.

Derek only smiled in return, ushering his horse forward into a canter. He passed many of those crowded in the scaffolding, only seeing Stiles as his destination.

Lydia smiled at Derek as she remained standing beside Stiles. “Your Majesty,” she greeted Derek with a nod of her head.

“Lady Hale,” Derek greeted her back.

“I was just welcoming Lord Stilinski back to Court,” Lydia announced, artfully placing Stiles as the center of attention. “I think he’d be quite welcomed at dinner tonight, wouldn’t he?”

“It would be nice to hear stories of your travels,” Derek offered as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles offered a small bow, “I would be delighted, Your Majesty.”

Derek nodded, drawing in a breath. His gaze flickered to Gerard, seeing the man looming behind Stiles as if he was the young man’s very shadow. He looked back at Stiles, forcing himself to act before he tried to ignore what he wanted to ask. “My lord, I would request to wear your favor.”

Stiles’ smile was soft but genuine in nature as he nodded in acceptance to Derek’s wish. “And I would grant you it, My King,” he replied. He reached a hand up to his arm, pulling the ribbon undone on his arm, the sleeve becoming loose with the ribbon’s lack of hold. He took a step forward, offering up his favor for Derek to wear.

Derek moved close to the scaffolding, his free hand patted against his horse’s neck to calm her whiny. He offered his gauntlet out, allowing Stiles to tie the ribbon around his gauntlet.

Stiles’ touch lingered on Derek’s gauntlet before he took a step back. He watched as Derek rode off, heading back towards where he came from. He moved to sit beside Lydia again.

Lydia took Stiles’ arm in her own, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “You’re the envy of so many now.”

Stiles felt the heat of a blush burn his cheeks. “I try not to be,” he honestly answered.

Lydia made a soft noise of contemplation. “This fabric is quite eye catching,” she commented. “It would be hard to believe that you own such a fine doublet without knowing it would catch anyone’s eye.”

Stiles turned to look at Lydia. “I own nothing,” he simply stated. “I am at the mercy of my good Lord Argent.”

Lydia could see the pain hidden beneath Stiles’ gaze. She nodded her head in concession. “I’m sure His Majesty would be pleased in anything you wear. Or don’t.”

Stiles looked surprised by Lydia’s implication.

“The whole Court knows it,” Lydia replied, turning her eyes out to watch the tourney. “It all depends on you.”

Stiles frowned at that. “That’s a lot to put on me.”

“And it is simple for a King to choose a new Consort after the last one neary cost him his own head,” Lydia simply countered.

“Perhaps, you’ve realized, I am not in control of my own future,” Stiles softly whispered to Lydia, knowing that Gerard was watching him closely.

“We are never in control when moved across the board as a pawn,” Lydia replied, turning her head back to catch sight of Gerard. She faintly smiled when she noticed Peter was distracting the old man. “Though, perhaps you’ve found a comfort in whose eye you’ve caught.”

Stiles looked down the span of the tourney ground, seeing Derek securing his helmet into place. He watched as his ribbon brightly stood out amongst the shine of Derek’s armor. “We don’t choose who we love,” he softly spoke, remembering the words his father had spoken when questioned about the Queen’s last days.

~*~

Stiles stomach twisted when the lance shattered against Derek’s opponent’s chest, dehorsing the man with simple ease. He moved to stand with Lydia, clapping with the applause of the crowd.

Derek removed his helmet as he dismounted. He offered his arm to the man, lifting him up when the healers appeared pleased. He softly smiled as he clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. He turned his attention towards the crowd—towards Stiles, handing his helmet off to Boyd as he approached the scaffolding.

Stiles drew in a steady, bated breath as he awaited Derek to reach him. He offered a faint smile as he watched Derek step up onto the scaffolding, using his strength to pull himself up by the railing.

“Your favor granted good luck,” Derek stated, offering his gauntlet up for Stiles to withdraw the favor.

Stiles touched his fingers to the ribbon, his hand moving down Derek’s gauntlet to hold his hand. He pushed Derek’s arm back against the man’s chest, placing the favor over Derek’s heart. “For you to keep.”

Stiles was certain, from the way Derek was looking at him, he would have kissed him if not for the audience.

“Well done, Your Majesty,” Gerard’s voice stated loudly over the cheers.

Derek pulled his gaze from Stiles, looking at Gerard with near disinterest. “Lord Argent,” he plainly stated. “Are you at Court for a while now?”

Gerard merely bowed his head. “As long as Your Majesty requests us.”

Derek looked at Stiles.

Stiles smiled back at Derek.

~*~

“Are you feeling any better?” Derek asked as he walked beside Stiles.

Derek had changed from the heavy constraints of his armor in order to better enjoy his time to spend with Stiles. There were still festivities taking place, the uproarious cheers of different Courtiers partaking in leisurely games added to the background noise.

Derek had offered his arm to Stiles, pleased to be walking alone with him now—even if it was likely that Gerard traveled a distance behind them.

Their stroll took them across the royal grounds, their trail having wandered into the manicured lawns a decent distance from the castle. Stiles had seen little groups of Courtiers passing by, knowing that Derek’s guard had deterred more than a dozen from flocking around them. It was pleasant to be granted alone time with Derek, without the worry of listening walls, or watching portraits.

Particularly the spies Gerard employed in the Royal Guard.

Stiles looked at Derek before quickly trying to hide his eye from Derek’s sight. “Yes. I’m a horrible rider to begin with, so this was bound to happen when I get an easily startled horse.” He remembered how gleeful Gerard had been in planning what was to happen—how Gerard was even happy with punching Stiles in the face. He shook his head at the memory of how Gerard said a black eye would make it believable that he fell from a horse.

Derek reached a gentle hand out to touch Stiles’ arm, drawing Stiles in closer to him. He cupped Stiles’ jaw in his hand, angling Stiles’ face to better observe the bruise. “I would feel better if you’d let my physician look.”

Stiles lightly smiled at the thoughtful gesture, reaching his hand up to cup Derek’s. He turned his face into the palm of Derek’s hand. “I’m fine,” he uttered. His gaze dropped to the chain that was around Derek’s neck, recognizing it as the one that held the locket, his portrait inlaid inside the intricately designed metal. His hand reached for the chain, his fingertip gracefully touching the fine jewelry. He didn’t pull away when he touched the bare skin of Derek’s throat, just above Derek’s collarbone. “You’re wearing it,” he commented.

“I’ve worn it since you gave it to me,” Derek simply answered, as if it was the most obvious of answers.

Stiles smiled, brushing his fingertips against the skin of Derek’s throat as they drew closer together. “I’m glad you like it,” he admitted as he looked up at Derek.

“It brings me comfort, having your likeness present any time I need it,” Derek replied. He reached his other hand up to cup Stiles’ face in both palms, easily angling their faces to slot together in a kiss.

Derek hesitated just before their lips met, as if he was distracted for a brief moment.

“I believe Your Majesty is trying to kiss me,” Stiles softly uttered, a small smirk pulling at his lips as he looked up at Derek.

“If that is agreeable to you,” Derek spoke the words over Stiles’ parted lips.

“I dare say it is all I’ve thought about since your letter,” Stiles replied.

Derek finally gave in to both their wants and desires to finally kiss.

Stiles dug his fingernails down into the material of Derek’s tunic, hanging on as he opened his mouth into their kiss. His whole body sagged against Derek’s, his mind blank, nothing but the sensation of Derek’s mouth against his.

As far as first kisses went, it was unforgettable.

“What I’d give to have you here always,” Derek confessed against Stiles’ lips, kissing him once more, as if it was a necessity. “Say you’ll stay,” he almost begged, his voice hoarse with unspoken want.

Stiles looked at Derek, his grasp slipping some. “I … I can’t,” he weakly offered, looking away. “Lord Argent wouldn’t like that.”

Derek frowned at the mention of Gerard. “But would you like that?”

Stiles looked at Derek in surprise. “You know I can’t go against him,” he started. “I’d have nothing if not for him.”

“I could give you everything you need,” Derek countered. “Anything you want.”

Stiles pulled away from Derek. “You’d buy me,” he bitterly stated.

Derek’s features soured at that. “You’re not a whore to be purchased,” he firmly stated with little care of how crude his words were. “Despite what Gerard tries.”

Stiles turned from Derek, his hand moving towards his own locket—the portraits of his mother and father hidden within. “And the rumors about me,” he turned to look at Derek finally. “How would you give me the dignity back that they steal?”

“What rumors?” Derek asked, knowing there were too many circling even through his advisors.

“The ones they make about us,” Stiles pressed. “I know you are aware of their existence, Derek. That they say you are bedding me—that I’m nothing but a whoreson of a traitor and madwoman.”

Derek took a step forward, grabbing Stiles’ arm to keep him from turning away. “Your mother’s execution was horrid,” he firmly uttered, knowing that such an admittance caught Stiles by surprise. “Your father was forced to abdicate you from the throne because otherwise it would have been your head on a spike.”

Stiles wanted to pull away—he still remembered the images of the executions Gerard forced him to watch growing up. In the beginning he had been afraid that he’d be forced up onto the scaffolding to face the executioner. But as the years passed, being at Gerard’s mercy made Stiles long for such an outcome.

“I wish I wasn’t King,” Derek suddenly confessed. “I know the unsettling truth between us is that my family destroyed yours,” he forcefully admitted. He shook his head. “A moment doesn’t pass where I’m not questioning why you even speak to me—I’m the very reminder of what happened to your parents.”

Stiles drew in an unsteady breath. “You didn’t call the bannermen that turned on my mother,” he finally stated, admitting his own beliefs and truth for the first time since Gerard made him recite lies about the past. “I have no interest in the crown,” he admitted.

“I understand that sentiment all too well. It has brought me no happiness—only agony.” Derek shook his head, sighing in defeat. “Natalia is the only thing this infernal crown has given me that I wouldn’t give back.”

“Your daughter is sweet,” Stiles answered. “She is unlike so many surrounding her.”

Derek released a soft laugh, faintly nodding his head. “She is so unlike me.”

“No,” Stiles argued. “She gets her sweetness from you,” he answered as he reached a hand up to touch Derek’s cheek, his fingertips brushing through Derek’s beard.

Derek dared to almost kiss Stiles. “May I kiss you again?” He softly asked.

Stiles faintly smiled. “You’re the king.”

“And I would have your permission,” Derek replied. Happiness sparked in his chest when Stiles kissed him back. “Say you’ll stay, Stiles,” he pleaded. “Please.”

Stiles swallowed down the lump in his throat, terrified as he forced himself to nod. “I’ll stay,” he weakly whispered.

Derek kissed Stiles again, his hands delicately cradling Stiles’ face.

Stiles clung to Derek, feeling as if he’d drown without such a man’s hold.

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him in a tight embrace, breaking their kiss only for Stiles’ soft fit of laughter when he spun them. His sisters were right—he was hopelessly in love.

~*~

Lydia hadn’t thought much of her marriage prospects, knowing that her mother had wanted her to try and marry the King once it was announced that the Queen was branded a traitor. But she didn’t want the crown when there was too much uncertainty in holding onto her head. She had been more than happy to marry a lord of standing—she had never assumed she would have been offered marriage to Peter Hale, uncle and advisor to the King.

It didn’t take long for them to both realize that they were less interested in the pettiness of the Court, and more in the pleasures and entertainment they could take from observing the mockery.

Lydia knew that her prospects were tarnished when rumors spread of how easily she had spread her legs for her different, but many, suitors. She was surprised how uncaring Peter had been of those rumors—even more so how Peter offered to show her what a life of being cherished by him would entitle, all on the first night they met after the King informed Lydia of his wishes for her to marry Peter.

Peter brought Lydia pleasure she had never known before, her former lovers being inept and uncaring of her needs. Lydia had guarded her maidenhead with care, never allowing any suitor to assume they had a right to it. But she had never allowed someone to touch her as intimately as Peter had, even before they married, her mind hazy with the pleasure he gave her.

The night they met, with Peter’s head between her thighs, her legs draped over Peter’s shoulders and his mouth buried in her maidenhead, Lydia discovered what it was meant to have her body worshipped.

Now, months into their marriage, the affections had only deepened, refusing to wane as many marriages had experienced.

A shocked gasp startled from near the fountain’s entrance, forcing Lydia to tear her attention from Peter. Lydia hurriedly tried to fix her skirts, pushing Peter away from her in order to make them both presentable.

“Your Majesty, Lord Stiles,” Lydia simply uttered, as if she and her husband had not just been caught in the afterglow of shared passion.

“Lady Hale,” Stiles stumbled through his blush, bowing his head to them both. He couldn’t hide the fact that his skin was reddening in reaction to what he and Derek just stumbled upon.

"Seriously?" Derek incredulously asked Peter when his uncle finished fixing his trousers. "You're both married—to each other. You share a bed."

“My wife is gorgeous—you can’t blame me for finding her attractive any time of day, any place,” Peter countered with ease, running a hand through his hair.

Lydia smacked the back of her hand against Peter’s chest to stop him from talking. “We’re improper, husband,” she stated with ease. “I apologize for that,” she said to Stiles and Derek as she bowed.

Derek shook his head. “I should have known this would be the result of blessing this union.”

Peter bowed out of respect to Stiles, knowing that Derek wouldn’t care. “I apologize, Lord Stilinski. I can’t seem to control myself around my wife.”

“It’s understandable, Lord Hale,” Stiles replied with a courteous smile.

“You’re shameless,” Derek said to Peter. “You’re a father to be, show some dignity.”

“Don’t be uptight,” Peter replied. “I know you have similar desires boiling up in your gut for a particular someone,” he knowingly uttered, a slight smirk pulling at his lips as his gaze drifted to Stiles.

Stiles avoided looking at Peter, turning his face away as he tried to hide his blush.

“Hold your tongue,” Derek sharply snapped at Peter, his tone low with anger.

“Apologies,” Peter falsely apologized, finding joyful amusement in teasing Derek.

“Just go,” Derek dismissed them both, gesturing for them to leave.

Lydia curtsied, taking hold of Peter’s hand as he lead her away.

“I apologize for my uncle,” Derek softly apologized to Stiles.

“He has a passionate marriage,” Stiles offered, staring down at his shoes as he tried to calm his flushing skin.

“I apologize for what he said,” Derek specified. “His implication was quite forward.”

Stiles nodded, understanding that Derek was referring to Peter’s remark about Derek’s own desires. “He was teasing,” he offered.

“It was teasing and forward, but not inaccurate,” Derek replied.

Stiles blushed more at Derek’s words.

“I’m sorry,” Derek uttered.

“No, don’t be,” Stiles answered, looking up at Derek. “I actually … I am at fault for feeling the same.”

Derek looked at Stiles. “You don’t find my flirtations repugnant?”

Stiles released a soft laugh, turning to continue their stroll. “Far from repugnant, Derek.” He was surprised when Derek grabbed his wrist, pulling him back into a kiss.

Derek captured Stiles’ lips in a chaste kiss at first, testing just how welcomed it was. He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist when he felt Stiles press into his chest, their mouths opening into a much deeper kiss. “My name,” he uttered between kisses. “The way you said my name. I beg you, say it again.”

“Derek,” Stiles spoke Derek’s name once more. He released a breathy moan of laughter into their kiss, his hands clinging to Derek’s biceps.

Stiles startled when a loud bang sounded, followed by the razzling noise of fire and light bursting in the air above them. He pulled from their kiss to see the fireworks lighting up the sky. He felt breathless, only remembering what fireworks looked like from his childhood memories. It was a scene of splendor painting the sky.

“Do you like them?” Derek asked as Stiles turned in his arms to observe the display. He held Stiles against his chest, conscious of the way they fit together perfectly.

Stiles placed his arms over Derek’s, threading their fingers together. “They’re beautiful,” he answered.

“Whenever you want them, you can have them,” Derek replied. He placed a chaste kiss along the curve of Stiles’ neck. “Whatever you want, Stiles—whatever is in my power to give you, I’ll give you,” he softly spoke against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles blinked back the tears burning his eyes, his stomach twisting with guilt. “You,” he finally stated. “I just want you--and Natalia. A family,” he finally elaborated, turning to look at Derek. He closed his eyes as he fall back into Derek’s hold, pressing into their kiss as he tried to ignore the pain in his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

“I wanted to talk with you about Stiles’ father,” Derek broached the subject with as much care as he could, recalling Peter’s warning to tread carefully when Gerard was involved.

Derek’s gaze watched as Stiles played a game of tag with Natalia and a few of the other nobles’ children. He faintly smiled at the image before him, knowing he could have a life of happiness with Stiles should he managed to do this right.

Gerard sat at the main table in the garden with Derek, the other guests all standing and conversing with themselves, none of them daring to come close enough to hear the King’s words.

Gerard appeared displeased with Derek’s line of conversation. “Your Majesty, the man is a traitor to the crown,” he began.

“And over a decade ago, he was dedicated to its protection,” Derek quickly countered.

Gerard’s gaze turned to Stiles. “I’m not sure what Stiles has been telling you—”

“Stiles hasn’t mentioned him,” Derek sharply replied before Gerard could lay blame at Stiles’ feet. “I wanted this to be a surprise for him. He’s guarded about it, but I know having his father here would mean a great deal to him.”

Gerard stared at Derek with an evaluating look, as if he had spoken a few different languages at once. “If I may ask, for what, Your Majesty?”

Derek took his wine goblet in hand, offering it up for the servant to fill. “For the wedding,” he finally stated. He looked at Gerard. “I haven’t asked Stiles yet, of course, but it is my wish that John be here for it.” He took a drink from his goblet before setting it down. “And for that to happen, I need to know the man’s whereabouts.”

Gerard was pleased with Derek’s admittance that a marriage was likely to occur in the future. He cleared his throat as he leaned closer to Derek. “And Your Majesty asks me for that knowledge?”

Derek released an even breath. “I’m not a fool, Gerard,” he finally stated as his earlier facade of clueless monarch melted away. “I know you have informants in every part of my kingdom. I want to know where John Stilinski is, and I want him brought to the palace—unharmed. And as Stiles’ chaperon for the past years, I believe you would like for this union to transpire.”

Gerard leaned back in his chair, his gaze moving to observe Stiles.

Stiles busied himself with fixing Natalia’s hair, threading some of the flowers they had picked into her braids. He smiled when Natalia leaned her head back to look up at him with a soft and amused laugh.

“If it pleases Your Majesty to give Stiles such a wedding gift,” Gerard began before looking at Derek. “Then it pleases me to help in any way I can.”

~*~

“You spoke with Gerard for a while today,” Stiles finally uttered his concern. He had seen Derek almost lost in conversation with the older man. He could barely hold in his questions until dinner, relieved when he realized he would share a meal alone with Derek. He would have been terrified of what Gerard had in store for him if he hadn’t been freed to live at the palace under Derek’s protection.

Stiles’ rooms were inevitably connected to Derek’s. He found himself blushing at the mere thought of such easy access to Derek’s private chambers. Though in the months that passed, Derek never made a move to force his presence in Stiles’ room, or vice versa.

Gerard had also been permitted to have rooms in the palace, but they were thankfully still separate from Stiles’ own.

“A few minor requests,” Derek answered Stiles’ concern. He reached a hand over the corner of the table, taking hold of Stiles’ hand. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Stiles smiled as he folded his hand into Derek’s. “Of course,” he agreed.

“I have a gift for you,” Derek stated with a smile, as he rose from his seat.

Stiles’ joy was obvious in his own smile. “You don’t have to do that,” he answered as he followed Derek’s movement to stand. “You know I just love to spend time with you.”

Derek took Stiles’ hand, pulling him into the side parlor and towards the displayed table. “And yet I find you deserving of more.” He gestured at the ornate box on the table as he sat in the chair beside it.

Stiles lightly laughed, placing his hand on the box as he looked away from Derek. He slowly opened the box, revealing the different and various royal jewels. He carefully reached his hand out, fingertips barely grazing the gems.

“I know you don’t care for expensive things,” Derek began, absentmindedly tapping his hands on the chair’s armrests. “But they are more than just an extravagance.”

Stiles picked up one of the broach lockets with a large opal on it. He remembered it as the one his mother had worn—her favorite, even. He remembered being held in her arms, his hand fiddling with the broach as she spoke with dignitaries. How he loved to open the broach’s secret locket and stare at the portraits inside.

“Normally, royal jewels would be reset, but I kept these maintained,” Derek continued. “I know it doesn’t give you back what was taken from you,” he painfully confessed, guilt haunting him still.

Stiles shook his head, tearfully replying, “But it’s a piece of her.” He looked at Derek. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then, they please you?” Derek hesitantly asked.

Stiles smiled as he approached Derek. He knelt beside Derek’s chair, leaning in close to Derek, their lips just a small distance apart.

“I love you,” he confessed for the first time, his hand running low along Derek’s stomach as his arm hooked around him, leaning in close. “I love you with my every breath—with every fibre of my being, I love you.” His lips grazed Derek’s, his breath soft and quick as he added, “And I am  _ yours _ .”

Derek kissed Stiles as he reached an arm out to wrap around him.

Stiles opened his mouth into their kiss, closing his eyes as he let his own passion consume him. His hand moved across Derek’s chest, fingers slipping beneath the parting clasps of Derek’s vest. He caressed Derek’s chest, his hand placed over Derek’s heart.

“I am yours,” Derek echoed Stiles’ words.

~*~

Stiles smiled to himself as he walked to his room, touching his fingertips to his lips as he remembered their kisses. His lips were swollen, well used. He had to pull himself away from Derek, knowing he’d ask Derek to follow him to bed that night if he didn’t put distance between them.

Just the feel of Derek pressing him against the parlor’s door, the strength and care Derek displayed when holding him, was enough to put Stiles’ mind into a tailspin.

Stiles’ smile was blazen on his face as he entered his rooms, his mother’s broach secured in his hand.

“You’re fooling yourself, child,” Gerard’s voice startled Stiles.

Stiles straightened to his full height, terrified as he turned to look at Gerard. He took a step back towards the room’s entrance.

Gerard sat in the chair by the fireplace, only a couple of feet from Stiles’ bed.

“I’ve done all you’ve asked,” Stiles finally stated once he saw Gerard begin to rise from the chair.

Gerard cruelly laughed, “You play inept? I know you’re smarter than that—like your mother.”

Stiles played with his mother’s broach, fiddling with the gem before closing his hand around it.

“You tried to convince Derek to get your father freed,” Gerard pressed.

Stiles looked bewildered by Gerard’s words. He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s asked for your father to be brought here,” Gerard explained as he crowded into Stiles’ space.

Stiles’ back collided with the doorway, his hand tightened around the broach in terror that it would be taken away like everything else he cherished.

“He’s going to ask for your hand, and he wants your father here for it,” Gerard offered Stiles such knowledge. “When he does ask, you’re going to accept—you’re going to insist I be made Lord Privy Seal.”

“I don’t hold that power over His Majesty,” Stiles weakly argued.

“Then use leverage with him,” Gerard pressed as he grabbed Stiles by the shoulders. “Keep his interests prolonged, have him desire nothing but you and your happiness, and he’ll give you whatever you say.”

Stiles’ fingers gripped his mother’s broach with such pressure, he could feel the silver border cutting into his skin.

“Don’t forget what will happen if you ruin this,” Gerard lowly stated.

Stiles closed his eyes, flinching when Gerard kissed his forehead. He sagged against the doorframe when the sound of the door closing signaled Gerard’s departure. He drew in a sharp breath, a sob breaking from his chest. His hopes of freedom seemed to break apart in the wake of Gerard’s words.

~*~

News spread of Derek’s infatuation with Stiles, Gerard fanning the flames even more with rumors of marriage preparations underway.

Stiles nervously held tightly to Derek’s arm as he strolled alongside him. He knew Gerard was trailing close behind, convinced the man would never leave him be. He clung to Derek.

“Are you alright?” Derek softly asked, turning his attentions towards Stiles.

“Fine,” Stiles weakly answered, forcing a smile in order to reassure Derek.

Derek brought their stroll to a stop, turning to face Stiles. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, his hands resting high on the small of Stiles’ back. “You’re troubled,” he stated, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I have many thoughts,” Stiles answered, placing his hands on Derek’s biceps, his palms moving to brush over Derek’s jewelled collar. “Some more troubling than others,” his gaze flickered over to Gerard, seeing the man lingering a moderate distance from them.

Derek caught the distraction in Stiles’ gaze, turning his head to see Gerard. He made direct eye contact with the man before guiding Stiles back behind the privacy of one of the garden’s many hedges.

Stiles looked panicked for a moment, though he willingly moved with Derek in favor of the seclusion when he saw the guards block Gerard from following. His shoulders sunk with ease when he realized they were hidden from Gerard’s gaze.

“Speak honestly with me,” Derek began in a pleading tone. “Are you happy here?”

Stiles drew in a soft breath as he quickly nodded. “Of course,” he affirmed. “This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Derek palmed Stiles’ cheek, his thumb brushing high over his cheekbone. “Then know you can tell me the truth,” he stated.

Stiles closed his eyes as he moved to rest his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. “There are things I feel … obligated to ask, on behalf of others,” he artfully confessed.

Derek cupped the back of Stiles’ neck, his fingers curling through the small locks of Stiles’ hair. “What things?”

“To honor those … well, for Gerard to … to have a better title,” Stiles answered, looking up at Derek.

“You wish to honor him with an appointed title,” Derek pieced together Stiles’ words.

Stiles nodded, grateful to Derek for saying what he couldn’t.

“There aren’t many titles left for appointment in my council,” Derek admitted. “There is Lord Privy Seal,” he reluctantly stated.

Stiles felt sick, hating himself for leading Derek into such a trap. “Surely you have another in mind for that?” He found himself asking, doing his best to push Derek off the path, regardless of his original intent.

“I suppose Gerard will have to be patient,” Derek answered. He looked at Stiles, a small smile on his lips. “I’ve saved that position for another.”

Stiles looked surprised by Derek’s answer. “Whom?” He asked for fear of that person’s life being in danger now. He knew Gerard would be angry with him for failing to persuade Derek—but Stiles couldn’t manipulate Derek, not with something so damning.

Lord Privy Seal had access to the King’s royal seal—the weight of the King’s orders being dealt out as if it was his own.

Gerard could convince the people that Derek was the monster he claimed the younger man was—all with the lies the seal would give him the power to masquerade as truths.

Derek pressed a gentle kiss to Stiles’ temple. “Once we are wed, I will reveal all.”

Stiles pulled back to look at Derek in surprise. “You mean that?”

“Would that please you?” Derek asked in kind. “Because it would make me irrefutably happy to hear that you feel the same way.”

Stiles quickly nodded. “Yes,” he confirmed with a watery laugh, a smile breaking across his lips. “I do—with all my heart, I do feel the same.”

Derek smiled as he kissed Stiles.

~*~

Stiles sat with Natalia in his lap, his fingers pointing at the words on the page as he helped Natalia translate.

Natalia frowned as she remained quiet despite Stiles’ attempts to help her.

Stiles leaned to the side, trying to catch sight of Natalia’s face to see if she understood what was happening. “Sweetheart,” he softly uttered as he brushed one of Natalia’s curls behind her ear. “Is something wrong?”

“Are you going to leave?” Natalia finally asked, looking at Stiles.

Stiles frowned at that. “No,” he countered. “I would never choose to leave you. Or your father,” he admitted.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Natalia replied, turning in Stiles’ lap to hug him. “Ever.”

Stiles hugged Natalia back.

“I never want to forget you,” Natalia stated against Stiles’ shoulder. “I love you. Papa loves you, too.”

“And I love you both,” Stiles replied.

“I remember my mother only a little,” Natalia confessed, her grip on Stiles’ shoulders tightening. “I want to always remember you—I want to always have you here.”

Stiles kissed the curls atop Natalia’s head. “I will do my best to stay.”

There was an abrupt knock on the door, announcing the guardsman before he entered the room.

“Royal Highness, my lord,” the guard greeted both of them.

“Yes?” Stiles inquired as Natalia clung to him still despite their new addition.

“His Majesty has asked that you both be informed that Lady Hale is about to give birth,” the guard explained.

Stiles was surprised by such an announcement, having thought Lydia was still a ways from having her child.

“Is she going to be okay?” Natalia inquisitively asked of Stiles.

“Your papa will make sure of it,” Stiles offered. He looked to the guard, faintly gesturing for him to depart with a soft thanks on his lips. “Let’s forget lessons for today,” he offered to Natalia, running his fingers through her curls. “We’ll prepare to celebrate the King’s new cousin.”

Natalia smiled as she nodded profusely.

~*~

Stiles ate what he could, gently pushing his chair away from the table. He looked at the fire, his hand moving to grab the goblet he had left forgotten earlier. “I can’t stand waiting,” he softly uttered.

“It is the worst part for those other than the mother,” Derek replied as he too stared at the fire.

“She’s not … in danger, is she?” Stiles almost begged for a positive answer.

Derek looked at Stiles. “I’ve sent my personal physician to care for her while the midwife does what she can,” he explained. “If more is needed, more will come.”

“Good,” Stiles softly uttered.

Derek drew in a deep breath, relaxing in his chair as he continued to stare at Stiles. “Many pregnancies bring forth such dangers.”

Stiles nodded, leaning his chin in his hand. “My mother,” he paused, gently biting down on his thumb as his hand covered his mouth. “My parents were to have another child, in the midst of her madness,” he admitted, looking at Derek as he dropped his hands to his lap. “The baby was born only a few months before it was expected.” He shook his head. “She was near death with childbed fever afterwards. My father cared for her—saved her life, actually.”

Derek continued to stare at Stiles. “Your father is a miracle worker, then,” he admitted. “I’ve known many who had died from such fevers—even children from such similar sicknesses.”

Stiles looked at Derek.

“Natalia wasn’t my only child,” Derek suddenly stated. His gaze was fixed on the tablecloth’s pattern beside the silver plates of food. He recalled the first announcement Jennifer pressed to have about their unborn child. He had been cautious, fearful of what could still happen. But she had more confidence than Derek did—she claimed to know it was a boy, and that she would give Derek the heir he needed.

Stiles remained silent, allowing Derek the time he needed.

“I had a son,” Derek continued. “He died only a few days after his birth. Cold in bed.” His voice wavered, a sharp breath cutting his words off. He pressed the backs of his fingers against his mouth, a small attempt to keep such emotions at bay. He would never forget the dread—the heartbreak he had when holding his son’s lifeless body against his chest. “Jennifer resented Natalia for living when Charles had not.”

Stiles leaned over the corner of the table, as his hand reached out to take hold of Derek’s in what he hoped was a comfort. “That was Jennifer’s own choice,” he offered. “Both were her children, but she chose to disregard Natalia, near the end.”

Derek shook his head. “She hated them both, because they were mine.”

Stiles stood from his chair, moving to kneel beside Derek’s chair. He used both his hands to hold onto Derek’s arm as he pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. “And that was cruel.”

“I can only hope that Lydia truly does care for Peter, just as he has fallen in love with her,” Derek stated, turning to look at Stiles with adoration. “And that their child is loved.” He cupped Stiles’ cheek in his free hand, fingers caressing the underside of Stiles’ jaw.

“If I could give you a child, I would,” Stiles softly spoke, his lips pressing kisses to arched base of Derek’s thumb. “Just as I would love Natalia as my own.”

Derek leaned forward in his chair, placing a welcoming kiss to Stiles’ lips. “You are such a grace in my life,” he admitted. “One I’ve never thought I would have.”

Stiles rested his hand on Derek’s knee, his fingers moving to caress the inside of Derek’s thigh. He drew in a soft breath, kissing Derek once more as his hand traveled further up his thigh, emboldened by the taste of Derek’s tongue in his mouth.

“Stiles,” Derek moaned his name as Stiles touched his cock through his lounging trousers.

Stiles fingers nimbly moved to unlace Derek’s trousers. “I’ve wanted to be with you for so long,” he uttered through kisses. He parted Derek’s trousers, his hand working Derek’s cock to full erection. “For you to share my bed,” he boldly stated.

Derek gasped out a moan of pleasure when Stiles’ mouth enveloped his cock.

Stiles was timid, unsure of himself at first as he worried about where to start. He had heard lewd stories and crude anecdotes being spoken about the act of fellatio, though he had never experienced it. He used his own creative thoughts to start, his tongue tasting and licking Derek as he imagined what he himself would enjoy. He knelt lounging between Derek’s spread legs, Derek’s hand buried in his hair as his head bobbed his mouth up and down Derek’s cock.

How he must have looked the whore Gerard painted him as.

Derek gripped the armchair with his free hand, determined to not pull Stiles’ hair harshly in reaction. His breathing was heavy as his eyes slipped shut from the pleasure. He encouraged Stiles on with a gentle litany of desirous words. He would be embarrassed later with how fast his orgasm grew.

“Stiles, pull away,” Derek nearly ordered eventually.

Stiles appeared confused, almost shy out of his uncertainty if he did something wrong—displeasing, even. He realized Derek’s reason for stopping him when he hastily grabbed a discarded napkin from the table to place over his cock. He easily sped up his movement as his grip twisted and caressed Derek’s cock all over, until he felt the King’s orgasm peak.

Derek pulled Stiles up into a kiss just as his cut off moans gasped and stuttered out Stiles’ name.

Stiles pressed his forehead against Derek’s as he slowed his hand’s movement around Derek’s cock, teasing the fading waves of orgasm out of Derek. He lazily kissed Derek, shifting his weight to lessen the pressure of his cock trapped in his trousers.

Derek had his wits about him enough to wipe down Stiles’ hand with the napkin, avoiding soiling any part of himself or Stiles. “That was,” he breathily started, though was lost for words as he kissed Stiles again. “Amazing.”

Stiles kissed Derek back. “Derek,” he softly whined when Derek pulled him up to stand together. His ass pushed back into the table as Derek bodily pressed against him. He legs spread wide in order to accommodate Derek’s hips as he sat on the edge of the table. He hooked his legs around Derek’s hips, the insides of his knees housing Derek.

Derek ground his hips against Stiles’ as he kissed him again.

“The napkin,” Stiles concernedly started, grabbing Derek’s hand to stop him from dropping it to the floor. He couldn’t help his soft laugh when Derek tossed the soiled cloth into the fire.

Stiles’ desire was overcome by sheer embarrassment when the door to their parlor room was thrown open. He startled as his hands grasped Derek’s biceps, hiding his face in Derek’s chest. He slid off the edge of the table, desperate to hide their intimacy from whomever opened the door.

“Your Majesty—”

“Are you a fucking imbecile?” Derek furiously yelled at the guard, refusing to turn completely from Stiles. He was overly aware of his trousers’ current state of exposing himself.

“I apologize, Your Majesty—”

“If you had half a brain, you would realize you have less than ten seconds to flee my presence—immediately!” Derek snapped.

“Your uncle sent me—”

“—you continue to speak, after I order you to leave?” Derek demanded in outrage.

“Say your news and leave!” Stiles yelled from his spot hidden from view behind Derek’s chest.

“Her Ladyship Hale has given birth to a healthy son,” the guard stumbled out, keeping his eyes diverted from looking at either men.

“Now leave,” Derek barked out. He released a breath after the door loudly closed. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, wrapping his arm around Stiles.

Stiles was too embarrassed to reply. He knew what rumors would spread now.

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple, his hand running along Stiles’ thigh in a soothing manner.

“I think you blocked most of me from view,” Stiles replied, looking up at Derek.

“Luckily for that guard,” Derek answered.

Stiles smiled at that. He accepted Derek’s kisses, his hands digging down into the fabric of Derek’s doublet. “I wouldn’t be against continuing,” he softly stated between kisses.

Derek wordlessly shoved back the plates, clearing a part of the table for Stiles to recline against.

Stiles softly laughed as Derek lowered him to the table, his legs hooked around Derek’s waist.

~*~

"We’ll wed in the coming weeks," Derek simply explained to Gerard. He didn’t care for the man’s accusations against him. “That is what we both wish.”

“I must press for a faster union, Your Majesty,” Gerard countered, appearing upset with the knowledge he gained from his own treasonous actions of employing spies against the crown. “I’ve heard what has transpired between you—I’ve heard troubling details, in regard to Stiles’ virtue and the …  _ carnal _ knowledge you may have of him.”

Derek glowered at Gerard. “Careful, Lord Argent,” he lowly uttered. “You’ve been appointed to your position because of Stiles’ desire to see you rewarded. Think about your next words.”

“I speak only on behalf of concern for Stiles,” Gerard countered, feigning a look of concern. He was more upset that he had not been given the position of Lord Privy Seal. “If rumors are spread before your union, your enemies will do all they can to delegitimize it—Stiles will not be given the respect he deserves.” He was lying through his teeth. Though he was proud of Stiles for teasing Derek, he had worried that things would have gone farther had the guard not intervened, and Derek’s interests would eventually wane once he had his fill of Stiles.

“I will marry Stiles when the time is appropriate,” Derek answered Gerard’s false concerns. “Not a moment earlier.” He gestured Gerard to leave with a dismissive wave of his hand. He refused to trust Gerard with more details of his plans to wed Stiles. He wasn’t a fool, and knew something was happening against Stiles’ own will.

And he would be damned if he let Gerard continue to harass Stiles in such a manner.

“And Gerard,” Derek called the man to attention before he left the room. “If you are so interested in the speed of my marriage, perhaps you should produce word of Lord Stilinski faster.”

~*~

“He’s perfect,” Stiles stated with a smile as he looked down at the child in his arms.

“He’s like his father,” Lydia sighed, keeping her eyes closed as she relaxed in the bed.

“Utterly handsome, like all Hale men?” Stiles teased as he looked at Lydia.

“He keeps me awake almost all night,” Lydia replied, peeping an eye open to look at Stiles. “But speaking of Hale men…”

“I walked into that,” Stiles lightly laughed.

“I’ve heard you’re close to marriage,” Lydia stated, smiling at her friend.

“He’s asked, and I’ve accepted—well, Gerard approves at least,” Stiles corrected himself, trying to hide his own excitement in his prospects of marriage with Derek.

“Yes, but once you’ve married Derek, Gerard won’t have a say in what you do,” Lydia stated with nonchalance.

Stiles stiffened some, his gaze focused on the baby in his arms. “I … I didn’t … He won’t be happy with that. He’ll hurt—” he cut off his own confession, adjusting his grip on the baby as he held him tighter to his chest.

Lydia stared at Stiles for a moment before she moved to sit up. “Stiles, Derek is the King,” she softly explained when she realized Stiles was frozen with a fear in his eyes. “You will be made the King Consort by marrying him. To harm you is to harm His Majesty.”

Stiles hesitantly snuck a look at Lydia.

Lydia lightly touched a comforting hand to Stiles’ shoulder. “I don’t know what he’s done,” she spoke in a hushed voice. “But he’ll never be allowed to hurt you again. Derek would never allow it.”

Stiles shook his head. “Lydia, I’ve—” a sharp sob cut off his confession. He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to accommodate the now fussing baby in his arms.

Lydia clapped her hands loudly, calling for one of the servants to enter her room. She took her son from Stiles’ arms with ease, kissing his forehead before offering him to the servant girl. She took Stiles’ hands into her own as she tried to calm him. “Try to breathe, Stiles. Please.”

It took a while, several heavy gasps escaping Stiles as he evened out his breathing.

“I love him,” Stiles cried, gripping Lydia’s hands in desperation.

“That’s wonderful—”

“No!” Stiles countered with another sob. “I’ve lied to him—he’ll hate me when he discovers the truth.”

Lydia looked puzzled by Stiles’ words. “How? How could you have lied to him, Stiles? You have been nothing but truthful with him—”

“I’ve done a terrible thing—it’s all a scheme,” Stiles cried as he crumpled against Lydia, his head falling to rest in her lap.

Lydia stared down at Stiles, completely puzzled by his words as she brushed her hands through his hair. “Tell me, Stiles,” she pleaded with him. “Tell me what’s happened, and we’ll fix it.”

Stiles allowed himself to cry until he could speak the truth.

~*~

"May I speak with you, my lord?" Stiles softly asked Derek as he rose from his seat next to the fireplace.

Derek drew a few steps closer, unable to describe his pleasure with finding Stiles waiting in his bedroom for him. “Always,” he answered Stiles’ question.

Stiles moved to stand before Derek. He was in his dressing gown, having run through what he wanted to say over and over to himself as he prepared for bed. “I wanted to confess something,” he started, looking down between them.

Derek reached a hand out, fingers touching Stiles’ chin as he gently prompted him to look up. “I will hear all you have to say.”

Stiles placed his hands on Derek’s arms. “I love you,” he stated.

Derek kissed Stiles, his hands coming to rest on Stiles’ hips as he drew him in. “And I love you,” he echoed Stiles’ sentiments.

“There is something I have to tell you about Gerard,” Stiles finally stated. “But I needed you to know that I do love you.”

“There are things I must also tell you,” Derek replied. “Things that I think will ease your mind of worry.”

Stiles stared at Derek, wishing he had the courage to tell him first.

Derek smiled at Stiles, reaching a hand up to adoringly brush his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “I’m partially to blame for Gerard’s erratic behavior lately,” he began to explain. “I’ve … summoned your father to Court,” he finally confessed his secret.

Stiles’ eyes widened in disbelief. “But … he’s a traitor,” the words were ash in Stiles’ mouth, words all too often spoken by Gerard.

“I’ve had a full pardon drawn up for him,” Derek calmly explained, the back of his hand brush across Stiles’ cheek to calm him. He knew Stiles feared for John’s life more than his reputation—both of them knowing Derek could order his imprisonment and execution should John ever step foot in Court again. “And as a sign of good will, I’ve made plans to name him Lord Privy Seal, once we’ve wed of course.”

Stiles couldn’t find his voice.

“I should have told you sooner, to put your worries to rest, but I wanted to surprise you,” Derek shyly explained. “It was selfish to hide it, I realize that now.”

“Derek, I can’t— I can’t find the words,” Stiles finally answered him. He hugged Derek, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder as he clung to him.

“Are you happy?” Derek asked, almost uncertain when he saw Stiles’ tears.

“You always make me happy,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s collarbone. “But I fear I don’t bring you the same joy.”

“You bring me endless joy,” Derek corrected Stiles. “And a love I haven’t felt before.”

Stiles dared to look up at Derek. “Will His Majesty ask me to stay?” He whispered the question against Derek’s lips.

“No,” Derek lightly shook his head. “Not as a King, but as a man,” he clarified his initially rejection of the idea.

Stiles offered a small smile. “Derek,” he tenderly spoke his name. “Will you ask me to stay?”

“Always,” Derek echoed once more, closing their lips together in another kiss.

A melancholy cut through Stiles’ heart when he realized this was the last kiss he was likely to ever receive from Derek.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles slept through the night with Derek’s arms wrapped around him. He reached his arm up to hold onto Derek, welcoming the tight embrace Derek gave him. He fell asleep just as Derek placed a gentle kiss to his neck.

Stiles knew the servants would discover him in Derek’s bed the following morning. It meant nothing that the sheets had only been touched by sleep, Derek merely holding Stiles in his arms as if there was nowhere else for him to belong.

He knew his reputation would be shattered, leaving him labeled as the King’s whore—all too afraid now to even dare think about taking him into their house once Derek would discard him.

It took the last of his reputation away, leaving Gerard with nothing to build off of now.

Stiles made himself nothing more than a broken toy—a pawn sacrificed before it could corner the King on the chess board.

It utterly destroyed Gerard’s plans now if Stiles didn’t marry Derek.

Stiles knew the rumors had spread like wildfire from the stares he received. He was walking through the Court’s opened hall, the sea of Courtiers parting as if Stiles himself was a plague to be avoided.

A Lisiewicz, the royal fox that guarded the rose, had warmed the bed of the Hale King, the usurper wolf. Out of wedlock.

A harsh grip grabbed Stiles’ arm, effortlessly steering him off course. Stiles knew, without looking, it was Gerard.

“You dirty little mongrel,” Gerard lowly hissed close to Stiles’ ear as he brought him to a secluded hall. “You dare to try and ruin my plans,” he began, yanking Stiles to turn around and face him. “Do you forget how you’ve come to be here?”

Stiles tried to pull himself away from Gerard, determined to get back out in sight of the others. He knew Gerard wouldn’t risk witnesses to his public scolding of the King’s lover.

“Did you forget what happened to your bitch of a mother?” Gerard angrily snapped at Stiles, forcing him against the wall. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten about how that boy king is the reason she’s dead. And she was a queen, while you are nothing but a hole to fuck to him now—you were supposed to keep him invested in you.”

Stiles smacked at Gerard’s hand when the older man dared to try and hit him. His heart beat loudly, pounding in his ears. He was dizzy with the years of anger and pain he suffered under Gerard’s cruelty. He squared his shoulders as he glared at Gerard with no fear.

“I know how I got here,” Stiles angrily snapped at Gerard, yanking his arm out of the older man’s grasp. “And it wasn’t you.”

“You insolent child,” Gerard lowly answered.

“It was me,” Stiles firmly stated. “The King fell in love with  _ me _ —he  _ respects  _ me.” He started to walk away from Gerard, daring to get back into the hallway. “And you hold no more power over me, because of  _ him _ .” He stumbled when he collided with another person. He was surprised to find that it was Peter Hale.

Peter looked at Gerard, a low disinterest obvious in his features as he stared at the man. “His Majesty would like to speak with you,” he finally stated as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles felt equal parts relieved and panicked. He wondered how much Peter heard, wondering if he was going to be given the chance to tell Derek the truth. Regardless, he gladly took Peter’s arm, allowing the older man to escort him to Derek’s private parlor and study—the one he often spoke to foreign dignitaries or addressed the small council in.

Peter had been silent as he brought Stiles before the closed doors, his arm slipping from Stiles with ease. “I believe you have something important to tell my nephew,” he lowly stated as he stood before Stiles, his gaze critical.

Stiles looked up at Peter, staring at the older man before realizing that Peter must know. He released a soft laugh. “Of course you know—you know everything, don’t you?”

“My wife keeps me well informed,” Peter answered. “Though I must say, she demanded I not blame you. And strange enough, I find myself wishing to hear your excuse. Just as Derek will.”

Stiles reached his hand up to touch his mother’s broach fastened to his doublet. “I doubt that.”

“Oh, he’ll be heart broken, for sure,” Peter admitted with little care to softening the blow of reality for Stiles. “And furious, for a time. Though in the end, he will blame himself for daring to care for you.” He gave Stiles no time to adjust before moving to open the doors.

Derek appeared surprised to find his uncle bringing Stiles to him. He handed the piece of parchment he signed to his valet, moving to stand as he dismissed the young man. He plopped the quill back into the inkwell, looking from his uncle to Stiles. “What’s wrong?” He almost demanded when neither of them would look at him.

“He has something to tell you,” Peter stated, barely gesturing towards Stiles in after thought. “And I wanted to make sure he did.”

“What are you implying?” Derek demanded of Peter.

“I’m implying that you are blinded by infatuation,” Peter dared to remark. “That you can’t see what is right in front of you, despite how often you refuse to trust people.”

“Careful, uncle,” Derek warned.

“I have been too careful with coddling you,” Peter answered. He looked at Stiles. “Fix what you’ve done,” he ordered him.

“Peter—” Derek started, his anger evident.

“I need to tell you what I was too afraid to last night,” Stiles suddenly confessed, catching Derek’s attention.

Derek stared at Stiles, betrayed by the idea that his uncle could be right—that Stiles could possible have kept something nefarious from him. Or that Stiles could be nefarious himself. “Stiles, whatever it is …” He stopped himself, knowing that there was a line to be drawn with whatever had happened.

There were things even Derek couldn’t forgive or pardon. And even Stiles knew that to be true.

“I’ve lied to you,” Stiles finally confessed, his ears ringing. “This whole time I’ve … I’ve done things against my will, all to please others,” he bitterly stated.

Derek tensed at Stiles’ words.

“But I can’t go on lying to you,” Stiles continued, his hand tightly clamped around his mother’s broach as he stared at the floor. “I can’t marry you.”

Derek’s features were pressed tight, his expression unreadable. His stomach twisted as he released a harsh breath. His hands tightened into fists against the table. “Peter, you can leave,” he forcefully stated.

Peter hesitated as he looked from Derek to Stiles. He finally receded to Derek’s wish, bowing his head before exiting the room.

Stiles drew in an unsteady breath.

Derek was silent as he turned away from Stiles completely. He moved towards one of the parlor’s windows, his hands pressing against the windowsill for support. “When?”

Stiles was silent, unsure what Derek meant.

“When did I become such a fool for you to laugh at?”

“Derek, please,” Stiles almost begged, taking an abortive step forward. His heart broke when Derek pulled away from him.

“Don’t,” Derek forcefully countered, as if he wanted to hide from Stiles’ voice when he stepped away from him. “From the very beginning you’ve …” He drew in an unsteady breath, feeling as if his chest was unraveling with every word. “Was it all a lie?”

Stiles tried to keep his lip from wobbling, his own chest constricting with emotion. “Gerard planned on introducing me to Court with the intent of seducing you,” he explained. “I never thought— I didn’t know you’d Court me.”

He worriedly rang his hands as he tried to think of what to say to ease any pain he brought Derek. “Gerard wanted to replace you with me— but I didn’t know his plans until more recently—”

“You make yourself out to be a victim in all this,” Derek lowly stated.

“I’ve done something terrible to you, and I won’t lie about that,” Stiles admitted. “But I could never hurt you or Natalia.”

“You already have,” Derek forcefully stated as he moved away from the windowsill.

“He wants the people to hate you,” Stiles continued despite his own want to rush to Derek and beg him to forgive it all. “He planned on having a coup after we married. He knew that if I married you, he could try to manipulate it all through me.”

Derek released a heavy, shaken breath. “Boyd!” He sharply called for his friend, wishing for someone else to bear witness.

Stiles couldn’t stop his tears, knowing that it was all unraveling—his happily ever after with Derek and Natalia completely shattered into pieces now.

“Your Majesty,” Boyd started, pausing his steps when he saw that Stiles was in the room with him. He looked perplexed by Stiles’ tears, as if he had been waiting to expect different news.

Perhaps for news of an official date for the wedding.

“I want Gerard Argent arrested,” Derek commanded as he walked over to his friend. “Have him thrown in the Tower.”

Boyd snuck a glance at Stiles. “For what crimes?” He pressed.

“Treason against the crown, and conspiracy to commit regicide,” Derek informed him.

“I’ll take my best men,” Boyd answered as he watched Derek move to sit against the table.

“Take Stiles with you,” Derek faintly ordered just as Boyd turned to leave.

An iciness flipped Stiles’ stomach upside down. He had always imagined he’d end up in the tower, but never thought he’d be stuck there with Gerard.

“May I have one request?” Stiles weakly asked as he tried to hold back the worst of his tears.

“And what could that be?” Derek lightly questioned, refusing to look at Stiles.

“May I see my father, before I die?” Stiles asked as he wiped his tears away at the thought of never seeing his father again. “I haven’t seen him in over a decade, and I just … please, I know I don’t deserve such a gift, but to be in the Tower with Gerard is a death sentence of its own.”

Derek turned to finally look at Stiles.

“I don’t expect leniency,” Stiles explained, unsure why Derek was looking at him in such a way. “I don’t deserve your mercy, either. I just can’t go back to— I can’t be around him again, not without knowing … without seeing my father again.”

Boyd was silent as he looked from Stiles to Derek.

“You think I’m sending you to the Tower?” Derek softly asked.

“After all I’ve done to trick you, how could you not,” Stiles weakly replied.

Derek closed his eyes, a frown taking over his features. “Stiles, I’m sending you home,” he admitted.

Stiles shook his head. “I’ve been Gerard’s prisoner since I was a child, I have no home—”

“Your father has a home in the North,” Derek quickly corrected Stiles. “Gerard has already sent word that your father would be there before the solstice. You and your father will both be free of Gerard. You are innocent in those respects, Stiles,” he continued. “And I don’t blame you at all for Gerard and his plans,” he weakly added.

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, unsure why Derek was showing him mercy Stiles deeply believed he didn’t deserve.

The doors opened, announcing the arrival of someone else.

Peter was escorting none other than Chris Argent.

Stiles gaped at the man, confused why Chris was even here.

“Gerard’s son is now coming clean, it seems,” Peter announced, an edged annoyance in his voice as he observed the other man.

Derek avoided looking at Stiles as he turned his attention towards Chris. “And what more could you tell me besides the fool I played?”

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to hide the pain those words brought up.

Chris carefully eyed Stiles before looking at Derek. “My father has many plans should his schemes involving Stiles fail,” he explained with a sigh. “I’m sick of his games, and I want him removed from the picture. Promise me you’ll do that, and I’ll tell you what he’s planning.”

“Trust me, Gerard has created his last scheme,” Derek sharply stated, his anger barely contained.

“He planned to have your family murdered one at a time,” Chris simply stated. He looked at Peter as he continued, “Starting with your wife and child.”

Peter’s expression turned murderous when Chris’ words finally settled.

“He planned on a poison—it mimics childbed fever,” Chris stated, he looked at Stiles for a brief moment. “It’s the same sickness Claudia almost died from—the one that drove her over the edge.”

Stiles leaned back against the wall for support. He could barely believe what he was hearing.

“He would eventually have the poison planted on Stiles as a way to get rid of him,” Chris continued. “He wanted you to betray and exile each person you had with swirling paranoia and suspicion,” he explained to Derek. “But now that Stiles has told you the truth, there is little time for us to outwit him.”

“Us?” Peter growled at Chris. “You come here, tell us your father plans to murder  _ my wife and child _ , and—”

“Plans to, but won’t,” Chris corrected Peter.

“Enough!” Derek loudly yelled through the bickering that had begun. “We’ll continue as planned, then,” he forcefully stated.

“You’ll make Stiles your Consort after he lied to you,” Peter incredulously demanded.

Stiles stiffened at the blame being laid at his feet, though he knew it was well placed.

“Gerard needs to see a spectacle of me putting a crown on his head,” Derek simply stated. “We can always annul a marriage.”

Stiles felt weak, dizzy with grief as he realized he would marry Derek, only to lose him still. He thought it was a fitting punishment for what he did.

“I’ll make sure Stiles’ father is here, out of Gerard’s grasp for the ceremony,” Chris concluded.

“I want to know which man would poison my wife,” Peter demanded.

“In time,” Chris answered.

“Everyone out,” Derek snapped. “Not you, Stiles,” his voice softened, more a request than a demand.

Stiles allowed everyone else the opportunity to leave as he stood, unsure of himself. He fiddled with the sleeve of his doubet, his mind wandering to the ribbon he had given Derek the day of the tourney. He wondered if it would be tossed in the fire now to be forgotten once everything was dealt with.

“It was brave of you to tell me,” Derek offered, still refusing to look at Stiles. He was afraid to see rejection there.

“It would have been braver of me to have been honest with you from the start,” Stiles corrected him, still looking down at his sleeves.

“After this, you’ll be free to come and go from Court as you like,” Derek replied. His brow furrowed, wondering what it would be like once Stiles left the palace behind.

“There wasn’t much I like about Court,” Stiles weakly answered. “Only you and Natalia.”

“Then how—” Derek bit off his question, his anger growing once again.

“How could I lie to you?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “How could you think I’d send you … that I’d hurt you?” The words were tense, as if they had bothered him more than Stiles’ betrayal.

Stiles looked up at Derek, a frown on his lips. “I don’t … You’ve been nothing but kind to me, when I don’t deserve it.”

“Then when did I become a monster that terrifies you?” Derek softly inquired.

Stiles moved with ease, coming to kneel before Derek as he clasped Derek’s hand in his own. “I love you,” he weakly confessed, pressing his cheek against their hands. “With all my heart. That was never a lie, Derek. It pained me to see you wade in Gerard’s manipulations, and I feared what he would do if you knew. I feared for Natalia and you both. But also for my father should I refuse him.”

Derek brushed his fingers over Stiles’ cheek, hesitating before he cupped Stiles’ face in the palm of his hand. “Stiles, I want it to be true, but I fear you’ve been forced into this.”

Stiles vehemently shook his head. “I was forced to be Gerard’s puppet, to hurt those I love most—you.” He looked up at Derek. “I would have gladly accepted your first attempts at courting me, had it not been exactly what Gerard wanted. I wanted to marry you—to be yours, but I couldn’t go through with it without telling you the whole truth. I wouldn’t— I  _ couldn’t _ do that, not to you.”

Derek moved to kneel in front of Stiles. He brushed his thumb over Stiles’ cheek, wiping away the tears there. “Do you trust me?” He calmly asked when Stiles finally looked at him.

Stiles nodded. “With my soul.”

~*~

Derek placed the circlet on Stiles’ head himself, angling it appropriately. He placed a fond kiss to the corner of Stiles’ lips, still hesitant in his actions despite Stiles’ eager acceptance and reassurance that he did still feel for him.

Stiles touched his hands to Derek’s chest, leaning against him. He turned his attention back to the lines of Courtiers, seeing Gerard for the first time that day.

Derek took Stiles’ hand, turning to display his new crowned Consort.

Stiles held Derek’s hand tightly, knowing that they were playing a deceiving game—one that he hoped work.

The wedding had been grand, but Stiles was certain he was dying with each word spoken. His heart breaking the longer he endured knowing that this was not real. He would wake the next morning, his marriage annulled, living in a cottage in the country far from Court. Far from Derek and Natalia.

Stiles’ wish to disappear amplified when Gerard approached them both once the self coronation had occurred. But Stiles knew the truth—Derek had the power to give and take the crown away at any moment.

Gerard didn’t realize that moment was coming.

“It pleases me to see such prosperity occur in this trying time,” Gerard announced. “I hope your aunt, Lady Hale, is well.”

Stiles tightened his hold on Derek’s hand.

“We thank you,” Derek answered, unwilling to tell Gerard the news—that Lydia was well, despite the man’s unveiled attempt to poison her in her childbed.

“I had hoped you would be presenting someone to us both today,” Derek uttered, artfully masking his own anger at Gerard with minor annoyance.

“And I have that someone,” Gerard answered, gesturing back to his man by the entrance to the hall.

Stiles took an aborted step forward when he saw his father enter the hall next. He stayed beside Derek, their hands clasped still as he kept himself back.

John appeared well, compared to the horrors Stiles imagined. He walked alongside Gerard’s guard, remembering the threats Gerard had spoken earlier.

Many Courtiers were in shock to see John present in Derek’s Court. Some whispered, others gaped, but all parted to make passage for him.

John paused his steps as he stood before Derek and Stiles. He attempted to bow correctly, his joints still weak from the torturous pains Gerard had inflicted on him. He released a pained grunt as he moved to stand. “Your Majesty,” he acknowledged Derek, though his sight remained on Stiles.

“Lord Stilinski,” Derek greeted John. He stepped back, guiding Stiles forward. “It pleases me to reunited you both.”

Stiles took the steps necessary to descend to the same level as his father. He hesitantly released Derek’s hand. “Father,” he softly uttered, disbelieving that he was standing so close. He reached an unsure hand out to touch John’s arm, his hands shaking when he finally moved to hug his father.

John held Stiles tightly, closing his eyes as he released a heavy breath. He finally had Stiles back. Though he feared at not knowing for how long.

Stiles clung to John, despite knowing that Gerard was watching them. He wondered if Derek’s plan would work.

Derek looked to Boyd and Isaac, nodding his head as the cue they had been waiting for. He turned his attention back to Gerard, offering the man a pleased nod of his head. “You’ve done well, Lord Argent,” he loudly announced.

John held tightly onto Stiles, unwilling to let him go. He glared at Gerard as he looked over Stiles’ head.

“But we have a traitor among us,” Derek continued, his voice even and unwavering as he looked at Gerard. “Don’t we.”

John stiffened at Derek’s words.

Stiles pulled back from his father when he felt the rigidness in his shoulders. He gently shook his head, softly uttering, “It’s okay.”

John looked at Stiles in disbelief.

“You plotted daggers in the dark, Lord Argent,” Derek finally stated, uncaring that the entire Court started to murmur. “You just didn’t plan well enough.”

Stiles clung to his father when the guards arrested Gerard.

~*~

“You promised,” Natalia practically cried as she glared down at Stiles’ boots. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave, and now you’re leaving, aren’t you?” She almost yelled.

“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles honestly answered her.

“Then why?” Natalia demanded as she looked up at Stiles. “You married papa! You’re supposed to stay!”

“Natalia,” Derek sternly spoke her name, wanting her to stop.

Natalia whirled around to look at her father. “You can’t send him away!” She stated through tears. “You can’t! I want him to stay!”

“So do I!” Derek loudly stated over Natalia’s blooming tantrum. “We don’t get what we want all the time,” he softly added.

Natalia started to wail loudly, uncontrollable tears streaming down her face as she hiccuped through her tantrum.

Laura was kind enough to interject, lifting Natalia up in her arms despite the child’s best attempts to get out of her aunt’s hold. “Speak to one another while you have a moment’s peace,” she stated over Natalia’s crying as she exited the room with help from Boyd.

Stiles looked at his father. “I need to speak with Derek about … everything.”

John hesitated, knowing that Stiles would be left alone with the King. “I’ll be outside,” he offered, pulling Stiles in for a lingering hug—as if John was still getting used to the idea that he could now hold Stiles in his arms.

Stiles sadly watched his father go, only turning to face Derek when the door shut.

Derek was leaning against the windowsill’s nook, his doublet’s vest removed to nothing but a loose shirt now that all the festivities had passed, and moon hung high. He was looking down at the coronation crown in his hands, the weight suddenly much heavier. He tossed the crown towards the table, uncaring when the crown tumbled off the other side and clanged onto the ground.

Stiles looked at the crown as it rolled to a stop and settled next to the fireplace.

“You don’t have to stay,” Derek finally spoke, his voice raw and void of any emotion. “Peter is having the council draw up a draft for an annulment. You just have to sign it before you leave.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles stated again as he took a step towards Derek.

“You don’t owe me pity,” Derek angrily snapped at Stiles, finally looking at him. “I played into Gerard’s hand like an idiot and believed his lies almost as much as you did.”

Stiles’ bottom lip quivered, the pain in Derek’s voice made his movements stop. “That’s not true,” he argued.

“It was a lie that you sold yourself,” Derek sharply stated.

Stiles shook his head as he closed the gap between them. “It was never pity—it was never a lie,” he vehemently stated. He fell to his knees by Derek. “Everything I did with you,  _ I  _ wanted to do with you. It was never Gerard’s manipulations that drove me into your arms.” He tightly wrapped his arm around Derek’s leg, his head leaning against the side of Derek’s knee. He didn’t want to let go.

“Gerard was obsessed with me capturing the eye of the King, but I … I only ever wanted your heart.” He looked up at Derek, catching how broken and vulnerable Derek looked at the moment. He reached his hand up, placing his hand on Derek’s chest, his fingers barely caressing the locket hidden underneath the fabric of Derek’s shirt. “The heart of the man I fell in love with,” he emotionally stated through his own tears. “Derek, please, let me stay. Let me be your husband— I will make it up to you, I swear—”

Derek grasped Stiles’ arms, bodily drawing Stiles up from the ground and into a fierce kiss, silencing his words from anymore doubt that he had to be forgiven. “I want you to stay,” he spoke against Stiles’ lips.

Stiles clung to Derek, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck as his body was practically draped across Derek’s. “Forgive me—”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Derek answered, another kiss shared between them in hopes it would put Stiles’ mind at ease. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t have saved you from him sooner.”

Stiles slid one arm down from around Derek’s neck, his hand moving to caress Derek’s cheek. “You’ve given me all I could want,” he replied.

“As you’ve done for me,” Derek answered.

~*~

The next morning, when Peter knocked on Derek’s door to deliver him the annulment in writing, the older man was greeted by an unsuspected sight.

Derek barely had his dressing gown on, the locket he had received as a gift from Stiles still hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, his face an expression of exhaustion. There was a bruise forming along his collarbone, which Peter suspected was shaped like the size of a mouth.

Peter arched his eyebrows at Derek, begging the question of what happened to him last night.

Derek took one look at the parchment before uttering, “If that’s the annulment, tear it up.”

Peter was flabbergasted. “I spent countless hours with your council writing up an agreement that young Lord Stilinski would be given every fine comfort of his desire if he accepted the annulment.”

“Well, it’s a little too late for an annulment, Uncle Peter,” Derek countered.

“Derek?” Stiles’ sleepy voice called from inside the room.

“Ah,” Peter mused. He shook his head. “You could have told me you were going to bed him, so I didn’t have to write this infernal thing,” he commented as he held the annulment up for Derek to see his painstakingly hard work.

“Think of this as payback for all the times you made my life insufferable with flaunting just how happy your marriage is,” Derek countered, a smugness in his tone.

“I hope you enjoyed your bedding, Stiles,” Peter loudly stated, smirking at Derek’s small glare.

A small voice answered, “Go away, Peter.”

Derek snorted as he shut the door in Peter’s face.

Peter sighed as he looked down at the annulment in his hands. He started to tear the parchment as he made his way down the halls, heading for his rooms to spend the last early morning light with his wife and son.


End file.
